of nobody else. Alfred, in his present dismal
state, only felt vexed at a fresh person coming up to worry him, and make
a talking; especially one whose presence was a restraint, so that he
could not turn about and make cross answers at his will.

'Well, Alfred, how are you to-day?' said the sweet gay voice, a little
subdued.

'Better, Ma'am, thank you,' said Alfred, who always called himself
better, whatever he felt; but his voice told the truth better than his
words.

'He's had a very bad night, Miss Jane,' said his sister; 'no sleep at all
since two o'clock, and he is so low to-day, that I don't know what to do
with him.'

Alfred hated nothing so much as to hear that he was low, for it meant
that he was cross.

'Poor Alfred!' said the young lady kindly. 'Was it pain that kept you
awake?'

'No, Ma'am--not so much--' said the boy.

Miss Jane saw he looked very sad, and hoped to cheer him by opening her
basket. 'I've brought you a new book, Alfred. It is "The
Cherry-stones." Have you finished the last?'

'No, Ma'am.'

'Did you like it?'

'Yes, Ma'am.'

But it was a very matter-of-course sort of Yes, and disappointed Miss
Jane, who thought he would have been charmed with the 'Swiss Family
Robinson.'

Ellen spoke: 'Oh yes, Alfred, you know you did like it. I heard you
laughing to yourself at Ernest and the shell of soup. And Harold reads
that; and 'tis so seldom he will look at a book.'

Jane did not like this quite as well as if Alfred had spoken up more; but
she dived into her basket again, and brought out a neat little packet of
green leaves, with some strawberries done up in it, and giving a little
smile, she made sure that it would be acceptable.

Ellen thanked vehemently, and Alfred gave feeble thanks; but, unluckily,
he had so set his mind upon raspberries, that he could not enjoy the
thought of anything else. It was a sickly distaste for everything, and
Miss Selby saw that he was not as much pleased as she meant him to be;
she looked at him wistfully, and, half grieved, half impatient, she
longed to know what he would really like, or if he were positively
ungrateful. She was very young, and did not know whether it was by his
fault or her mistake that she had failed to satisfy him.

Puck had raced up after her, and had come poking and snuffling round
Alfred. She would have called him away lest he should be too much for
one so weak, but she saw Alfred really did enjoy this: his hand was