life,--put, too, by a man of the rarest conformation of physical
powers that nature can adapt to physical enjoyment,--a man who, since
the age in which memory commences, had never known what it was to
be unwell, who could scarcely understand you if you talked of a
finger-ache, and whom those refinements of mental culture which
multiply the delights of the senses had endowed with the most exquisite
conceptions of such happiness as mere nature and its instincts can give!
But Will did not think the question unmeaning or insulting. He, the poor
cripple, felt a vast superiority on the scale of joyous being over the
young Hercules, well born, cultured, and wealthy, who could know so
little of happiness as to ask the crippled basket-maker if he were
happy.--he, blessed husband and father!

CHAPTER V.

LILY was seated on the grass under a chestnut-tree on the lawn. A white
cat, not long emerged from kittenhood, curled itself by her side. On her
lap was an open volume, which she was reading with the greatest delight.

Mrs. Cameron came from the house, looked round, perceived the girl, and
approached; and either she moved so gently, or Lily was so absorbed in
the book, that the latter was not aware of her presence till she felt
a light hand on her shoulder, and, looking up, recognized her aunt's
gentle face.

"Ah! Fairy, Fairy, that silly book, when you ought to be at your French
verbs. What will your guardian say when he comes and finds you have so
wasted time?"

"He will say that fairies never waste their time; and he will scold you
for saying so." Therewith Lily threw down the book, sprang to her feet,
wound her arm round Mrs. Cameron's neck, and kissed her fondly. "There!
is that wasting time? I love you so, aunty. In a day like this I think I
love everybody and everything!" As she said this, she drew up her lithe
form, looked into the blue sky, and with parted lips seemed to drink in
air and sunshine. Then she woke up the dozing cat, and began chasing it
round the lawn.

Mrs. Cameron stood still, regarding her with moistened eyes. Just at
that moment Kenelm entered through the garden gate. He, too, stood
still, his eyes fixed on the undulating movements of Fairy's exquisite
form. She had arrested her favourite, and was now at play with it,
shaking off her straw hat, and drawing the ribbon attached to it
tantalizingly along the smooth grass. Her rich hair, thus released and
dishevelled by the exercise, fell partly