us in Lucy, but in Sir Tom!

"I suppose we were all like that one time?" he said, trying to be
philosophical, as little Tom at last, half smothered with kisses, was
carried away.

"Like _that_--do you mean like baby? You were a little darling, dear,
and I was always very, very fond of you," said Lucy, giving him the
kindest look of her soft eyes. "But you were not a beauty, like my boy."

Sir Tom had laughed, with something of the same sentiment very evident
in his mirth, when Lucy spoke. He put out his hand and patted his young
brother-in-law on the shoulder. "It is absurd," he said, "to put that
little beggar in the foreground when we have somebody here who is in
Sixth form at sixteen, and is captain of his house, and has got a school
prize already. If Lucy does not appreciate all that, I do, Jock, and the
best I can wish for Tommy is that he should have done as much at your
age."

"Oh, I was not thinking of that," said Jock with a violent blush.

"Of course he was not," said Lucy calmly, "for he always had the kindest
heart though he was so clever. If you think I don't appreciate it as you
say, Tom, it is only because I knew it all the time. Do you think I am
surprised that Jock has beaten everybody? He was like that when he was
six, before he had any education. And he will be just as proud of baby
as we are when he knows him. He is a little strange at first," said
Lucy, beaming upon her brother; "but as soon as he is used to you, he
will go to you just as he does to me."

To this Jock could not reply by betraying the shiver that went over him
at the thought, but it gave great occupation to his mind to make out how
a little thing like that could attain, as it had done, such empire over
the minds of two sensible people. He consulted MTutor on the subject by
letter, who was his great referee on difficult subjects, and he could
not help betraying his wonder to the household as he grew more familiar
and the days went on. "He can't do anything for you," Jock said. "He
can't talk; he doesn't know anything about--well, about books: I know
that's more my line than yours, Lucy--but about anything. Oh! you
needn't flare up. When he dabs his mouth at you all wet----"

"Oh! you little wretch, you infidel, you savage," Lucy cried; "his sweet
mouth! and a dear big wet kiss that lets you know he means it."

Jock looked at her as he had done often in the old days, with mingled
admiration and contempt. It was like Lucy, and y