"Have the door open when you see us coming up the path."

Barbara gave a faint cry, and, trembling, clutched the arm of Mr.
Carlyle. "There he is! See! Standing out from the trees, just opposite
this window."

Mr. Carlyle turned to Mrs. Hare. "I shall not bring him in immediately;
for if I am to have an interview with him, it must be got over first,
that I may go back home to the justices, and keep Mr. Hare all safe."

He proceeded on his way, gained the trees, and plunged into them; and,
leaning against one, stood Richard Hare. Apart from his disguise,
and the false and fierce black whiskers, he was a blue-eyed, fair,
pleasant-looking young man, slight, and of middle height, and quite as
yielding and gentle as his mother. In her, this mild yieldingness of
disposition was rather a graceful quality; in Richard it was regarded
as a contemptible misfortune. In his boyhood he had been nicknamed Leafy
Dick, and when a stranger inquired why, the answer was that, as a leaf
was swayed by the wind, so he was swayed by everybody about him, never
possessing a will of his own. In short, Richard Hare, though of an
amiable and loving nature, was not over-burdened with what the world
calls brains. Brains he certainly had, but they were not sharp ones.

"Is my mother coming out to me?" asked Richard, after a few interchanged
sentences with Mr. Carlyle.

"No. You are to go indoors. Your father is away, and the servants are
shut up in the kitchen and will not see you. Though if they did,
they could never recognize you in that trim. A fine pair of whiskers,
Richard."