"Yes -- I 'spect he is -- he come in from school half an hour
ago. You go in there, and I guess you'll find him."

'There,' indicated a door at right angles with the front and
about a yard behind it. The woman opened the door, and left
Winthrop to shut it for himself.

In a bare room, at a bare table, by an ill-to-do dip candle,
sat Mr. Glanbally and his book. The book on the table, and Mr.
Glanbally's face on the book, as near as possible; and both as
near as possible under the candle. Reason enough for that,
when the very blaze of a candle looked so little like giving
light. Was that why Mr. Glanbally's eyes almost touched the
letters? Winthrop wondered he could see them at all; but
probably he did, for he did not look up to see anything else.
He had taken the opening and shutting of the door to be by
some wonted hand. Winthrop stood still a minute. There was
nothing remarkable about his future preceptor, except his
position. He was a little, oldish man -- that was all.

Winthrop moved a step or two, and then looking hastily up, the
little man pushed the candle one way and the book another, and
peered at his visitor.

"Ah! -- Do you wish to see me, sir?"

"I wish to see Mr. Glanbally."

"That's my name, sir, -- that's right."