otwood, or go elsewhere?"

"To stay," I answered quickly.

"You are sure?"

"If you please. If I may."

"Why, it's but a dull life that we lead here, boy, I'm afraid," he said.

"Not more dull for me than Agnes, sir. Not dull at all!"

"Than Agnes," he repeated, walking slowly to the great chimney-piece,
and leaning against it. "Than Agnes! Now I wonder," he muttered,
"whether my Agnes tires of me. When should I ever tire of her? But
that's different, that's quite different."

He was musing, not speaking to me; so I remained quiet.

"A dull, old house," he said, "and a monotonous life, Stay with us,
Trotwood, eh?" he added in his usual manner, and as if he were
answering something I had just said. "I'm glad of it. You are company to
us both. It is wholesome to have you here. Wholesome for me, wholesome
for Agnes wholesome perhaps for all of us."

"I'm sure it is for me, sir," I said, "I'm so glad to be here."

"That's a fine fellow!" said Mr. Wickfield. "As long as you are glad to
be here, you shall stay here."

And so I lived at Mr. Wickfield's through the remainder of my
schooldays, and to Agnes, as the months went by, I turned more and more
often for advice and counsel.

We saw a good deal of Dr. Strong's wife, both because she had taken a
liking to me, and because she was very fond of Agnes, and was often
backwards and forwards at our house, and we had pleasant evenings at the
doctor's too, with other guests, when we had merry round games of cards,
or music--for both Mrs. Strong and Agnes sang sweetly--and so, with
weekly visits from my aunt, and walks and talks with Agnes, and the
events and phases of feeling too numerous to chronicle, which make up a
boy's existence, my schooldays glided all too swiftly by.

Time has stolen on unobserved. I am higher in the school and no one
breaks my peace. Dr. Strong refers to me in public as a promising young
scholar, and my aunt remits me a guinea by next post. And what comes
now? I am the head boy! I look down on the line of boys below me, with a
condescending interest in such of them as bring to my mind the boy I was
myself, when I first came there. That little fellow seems to be no part
of me; I remember him as something left behind upon the road of
life--and almost think of him as of some one else.

What other changes have come upon me, beside the changes in my growth
and looks, and in the knowledge I have garnered all this while? I wear a
gold watch and c