ay. Bill
was especially devoted to him. He often wished that Master Arthur
could get very rich, and take him for his man-servant; he thought he
should like to brush his clothes and take care of his sticks. He had a
great interest in the growth of his moustache and whiskers. For some
time past Master Arthur had had a trick of pulling at his upper lip
whilst he was teaching; which occasionally provoked a whisper of
"Moostarch, guvernor!" between two unruly members of his class; but
never till to-night had Bill seen anything in that line which
answered his expectations. Now, however, as he stood before the young
gentleman, the fire-light fell on such a distinct growth of hair, that
Bill's interest became absorbed to the exclusion of all but the most
perfunctory attention to the lesson on hand. Would Master Arthur grow
a beard? Would his moustache be short like the pictures of Prince
Albert, or long and pointed like that of some other great man whose
portrait he had seen in the papers? He was calculating on the probable
effect of either style, when the order was given to put away books,
and then the thought which had been for a time diverted came back
again--his walk home.

Poor Bill! his fears returned with double force from having been for
awhile forgotten. He dawdled over the books, he hunted in wrong places
for his cap and comforter, he lingered till the last boy had clattered
through the doorway, and left him with a group of elders who closed
the proceedings and locked up the school. But after this further delay
was impossible. The whole party moved out into the moonlight, and the
Rector and his son, the schoolmaster and the teachers, commenced, a
sedate parish gossip, whilst Bill trotted behind, wondering whether
any possible or impossible business would take one of them his way.
But when the turning point was reached, the Rector destroyed all his
hopes.

"None of us go your way, I think," said he, as lightly as if there
were no grievance in the case; "however, it's not far. Good-night, my
boy!"

And so with a volley of good-nights, the cheerful voices passed on up
the village. Bill stood till they had quite died away, and then when
all was silent, he turned into the lane.

The cold night-wind crept into his ears, and made uncomfortable noises
among the trees, and blew clouds over the face of the moon. He almost
wished that there were no moon. The shifting shadows under his feet,
and the sudden patches of light