ith me.'

Godfrey looked at her steadily through his lashes.

'What are you?' he asked abruptly; 'are you a lady?'

'Yes, I think--I hope so,' said Angel.

'Last night I thought you were a white witch, like the ones in Biddy's
stories,' said the child, 'and I wanted you to make wings for me. Are
you sure, sure you can't? I want to go back.'

His lips began to quiver, and Angel drew him close to her.

'I can't send you back, dear,' she said tenderly; 'couldn't you try to
be happy with me? I want to love you very much.'

'Does _he_ live here?' asked Godfrey abruptly.

'Cousin Crayshaw do you mean?' asked Angel, in some alarm. 'No; he
comes to see us and help us, and tell us what to do.'

'I shall kill him next time he comes,' said Godfrey, calmly; 'I shall
hold on to his leg and bite him till he dies.'

'Oh, no, I'm sure you won't!' said Angelica, in dismay; 'no angels will
want to be near you, Godfrey, if you wish such unkind things as that.'

'Won't you want to be near me?' asked Godfrey doubtfully.

'I shall be very unhappy,' said Angel, and she added quickly, 'but
by-and-bye we can talk about everything. Come down and have breakfast
and see your other aunt.'

Godfrey looked at her steadily again for a minute, then he suddenly put
his little hand in hers.

'I will go with you,' he said, and Angel kissed him with all her heart
and led him downstairs. He was very quiet while he ate his
bread-and-milk under the eyes of both aunts, and with Penelope making
constant excuses to pop in and out of the room; but his great eyes took
note of everything, and now and then he asked some quick question or
said decidedly what he liked or did not like. He was very quick, Angel
thought, as she watched him, nothing seemed to escape him, and his
thoughts flew faster than she could follow. He would be very clever,
she said to herself, and her heart failed her a little, for she was not
clever, she knew. She was slow at understanding things, afraid of
deciding quickly; would she ever be able to guide any one else? She
thought about it that afternoon, when Betty had taken her nephew out
for a walk and she was busy darning his stockings. They were in
dreadful holes, and Angel, as she sat in the parlour window seat with
the basket by her side, remembered what she had heard about the way
boys wore out their clothes. It made her think of the plans she and
Betty used to arrange in their schooldays for mending Bernard's