uite disconcerted, and wondered, in his
simplicity, why she was so cool about it.

'You'll say she has the sweetest and beautifullest face you ever saw, I
know,' said Kit, rubbing his hands. 'I'm sure you'll say that.'

Barbara tossed her head again.

'What's the matter, Barbara?' said Kit.

'Nothing,' cried Barbara. And Barbara pouted--not sulkily, or in an
ugly manner, but just enough to make her look more cherry-lipped than
ever.

There is no school in which a pupil gets on so fast, as that in which
Kit became a scholar when he gave Barbara the kiss. He saw what
Barbara meant now--he had his lesson by heart all at once--she was the
book--there it was before him, as plain as print.

'Barbara,' said Kit, 'you're not cross with me?'

Oh dear no! Why should Barbara be cross? And what right had she to be
cross? And what did it matter whether she was cross or not? Who
minded her!

'Why, I do,' said Kit. 'Of course I do.'

Barbara didn't see why it was of course, at all.

Kit was sure she must. Would she think again?

Certainly, Barbara would think again. No, she didn't see why it was of
course. She didn't understand what Christopher meant. And besides she
was sure they wanted her up stairs by this time, and she must go,
indeed--

'No, but Barbara,' said Kit, detaining her gently, 'let us part
friends. I was always thinking of you, in my troubles. I should have
been a great deal more miserable than I was, if it hadn't been for you.'

Goodness gracious, how pretty Barbara was when she coloured--and when
she trembled, like a little shrinking bird!

'I am telling you the truth, Barbara, upon my word, but not half so
strong as I could wish,' said Kit. 'When I want you to be pleased to
see Miss Nell, it's only because I like you to be pleased with what
pleases me--that's all. As to her, Barbara, I think I could almost die
to do her service, but you would think so too, if you knew her as I do.
I am sure you would.'

Barbara was touched, and sorry to have appeared indifferent.

'I have been used, you see,' said Kit, 'to talk and think of her,
almost as if she was an angel. When I look forward to meeting her
again, I think of her smiling as she used to do, and being glad to see
me, and putting out her hand and saying, "It's my own old Kit," or some
such words as those--like what she used to say. I think of seeing her
happy, and with friends about her, and brought up as she deserves, and
as she