t day was wet, and he did not go into the meadow, being on honor
not to do so.

The fourth day was lovely, and he spent a long time in the meadow, in
hopes: he saw her for a moment at the gate; but she speedily retired.

He was disappointed.

However, he collected a good store of cowslips, and then came home.

As he passed the door out popped Ruperta from some secret ambush, and
said, "Well?"

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

"WELL," replied Compton.

"Are you better, dear?"

"I'm very well, thank you," said the boy.

"In your mind, I mean. You were cross last time, you know."

Compton remembered his mother's lessons about manly behavior, and said,
in a jaunty way, "Well, I s'pose I was a little cross."

Now the other cunning little thing had come to apologize, if there was
no other way to recover her admirer. But, on this confession, she said,
"Oh, if you are sorry for it, I forgive you. You may come and talk."

Then Compton came and stood on the gate, and they held a long
conversation; and, having quarreled last time, parted now with rather
violent expressions of attachment.

After that they made friends and laid their little hearts bare to each
other; and it soon appeared that Compton had learned more, but Ruperta
had thought more for herself, and was sorely puzzled about many things,
and of a vastly inquisitive mind. "Why," said she, "is good thing's so
hard, and had things so nice and easy? It would be much better if good
things were nice and bad ones nasty. That is the way I'd have it, if I
could make things."

Mr. Compton shook his head and said many things were very hard to
understand, and even his mamma sometimes could not make out all the
things.

"Nor mine neither; I puzzle her dreadful. I can't help that; things
shouldn't come and puzzle me, and then I shouldn't puzzle her. Shall I
tell you my puzzles? and perhaps you can answer them because you are a
boy. I can't think why it is wicked for me to dig in my little garden
on a Sunday, and it isn't wicked for Jessie to cook and Sarah to make
the beds. Can't think why mamma told papa not to be cross, and, when I
told her not to be cross, she put me in a dark cupboard all among the
dreadful mice, till I screamed so she took me out and kissed me and
gave me pie. Can't think why papa called Sally 'Something' for spilling
the ink over his papers, and when I called the gardener the very same
for robbing my flowers, all their hands and eyes went up, and they