"I'll tell you lots of stories afterwards; about the Frog-king and
Aladdin and Man Friday and The Girl who trod on a Loaf."

"And the Ship of Stars?"

"N--no." Taffy felt himself blushing. "That's one of the stories
that won't come--and they're the loveliest of all," he added, in a
burst of confidence.

Honoria thought for a moment, but did not understand in the least.
All she said was, "what funny words you use!" She went back to her
alphabet--A, house; B, cat. It came more easily now.

After lessons she made him tell her a story; and Taffy, who wished to
be amusing, told her about the "Valiant Tailor who killed Seven at a
Blow." To his disgust, it scarcely made her smile. But after this
she was always asking for stories, and always listened solemnly, with
her dark eyes fixed on his face. She never seemed to admire him at
all for his gift, but treated it with a kind of indulgent wonder, as
if he were some queer animal with uncommon tricks. This dashed Taffy
a bit, for he liked to be thought a fine fellow. But he went on
telling his stories, and sometimes invented new ones for her.
George Vyell was much more appreciative. Sir Harry had heard of the
lessons, and wrote to beg that his son might join the class.
So George rode over three times a week to learn Latin, which he did
with uncommon slowness. But he thought Taffy's stories stunning, and
admired him without a shade of envy. The two boys liked each other;
and when they were alone Taffy stood an inch or two higher in
self-conceit than when Honoria happened to be by. But he took more
pains with his stories if she was listening. As for her lessons,
Honoria got through them by honest plodding. She never quite saw the
use of them, but she liked Mr. Raymond. She learnt more steadily
than either of the boys.

One day George rode over with two pairs of boxing-gloves dangling
from his saddle. After lessons he and Taffy had a try with them, in
a clearing behind the shrubberies where the gardener had heaped his
sweepings of dry leaves to rot down for manure.

"But, look here," said George, after the first round; "you'll never
learn if you hit so wild as that. You must keep your head up, and
watch my eyes and feint."

Taffy couldn't help it. As soon as ever he struck out, he forgot
that it was not real fighting. And he felt ashamed to look George
straight in the face, for his own eyes were full of tears of
excitement. At the end of the bout, whe