n a stool in your
uncle's office, undisturbed by venomous insects, and cool in a November
fog."

I laughed too, but I shook my head.

"No. I shan't mind the insects if I can get there. Charlie, were those
wonderful ants old Isaac said you'd been reading about, Bermuda ants?"

I did not catch Charlie's muttered reply, and when I looked round I saw
that his face was buried in the red cushions, and that he was (what Jem
used to call) "in one of his tempers."

I don't exactly know how it was. I don't think Charlie was jealous or
really cross, but he used to take fits of fancying he was in the way,
and out of it all (from being a cripple), if we seemed to be very busy
without him, especially about such things as planning adventures. I knew
what was the matter directly, but I'm afraid my consolation was rather
clumsy.

"Don't be cross, Charlie," I said; "I thought you were listening too,
and if it's because you think you won't be able to go, I don't believe
there's really a bit more chance of my going, though my legs _are_ all
right."

"Don't bother about me," said Charlie; "but I wish you'd put these
numbers down, they're in my way." And he turned pettishly over.

Before I could move, the school-master had taken the papers, and was
standing over Charlie's couch, with his right hand against the wall, at
the level of his head, and his left arm hanging by his side; and I
suppose it was his attitude which made me notice, before he began to
speak, what a splendid figure he had, and how strong he looked. He spoke
in an odd, abrupt sort of voice, very different from the way he had been
talking to me, but he looked down at Charlie so intensely, that I think
he felt it through the cushions, and lifted his head.

"When your father has been bringing you down here, or at any time when
you have been out amongst other people, have you ever overheard them
saying, 'Poor chap! it's a sad thing,' and things of that kind, as if
they were sorry for you?"

Cripple Charlie's face flushed scarlet, and my own cheeks burned, as I
looked daggers at the school-master, for what seemed a brutal
insensibility to the lame boy's feelings. He did not condescend,
however, to meet my eyes. His own were still fixed steadily on
Charlie's, and he went on.

"_I've heard it._ My ears are quick, and for many a Sunday after I came
I caught the whispers behind me as I went up the aisle, 'Poor man!'
'Poor gentleman!' 'He looks bad, too!' One morning an ol