Yet there he sat before Donal's eyes, full of service, of smiles, of contentment.
Donal took up his book, but laid it down again and gazed at Gibbie.
Several times he tried to return to his reading, but as often resumed his contemplation of the boy.

At length it struck him as something more than shyness would account for, that he had not yet heard a word from the lips of the child, even when running after the cows.

He must watch him more closely.
By this it was his dinner time.

Again he untied his handkerchief, and gave Gibbie what he judged a fair share for his bulk--namely about a third of the whole.

Philosopher as he was, however, he could not help sighing a little when he got to the end of his diminished portion.