he pinched her crimson cheek.

Everybody then looked at Agnes, except Harry, who was busy looking for
the cat which papa said had come out of mamma's work-bag. Agnes could
not bear the gaze, and burst into tears.

"Agnes has taken more pains to keep the secret than her papa," said Mrs.
Proctor. "The secret is, that Hugh is going to Crofton next month."

"Am I ten, then?" asked Hugh, in his hurry and surprise.

"Scarcely; since you were only eight and a quarter yesterday afternoon,"
replied his father.

"I will tell you all about it by-and-by, my dear," said his mother. Her
glance towards Agnes made all the rest understand that they had better
speak of something else now. So Mr. Proctor beckoned Harry to come and
see whether the cat had not got into the bag again, as she was not to be
seen anywhere else. It is true, the bag was not much bigger than a cat's
head; but that did not matter to Harry, who never cared for that sort of
consideration, and had been busy for half an hour, the day before, in
trying to put the key of the house-door into the key-hole of the
tea-caddy.

By the time Agnes had recovered herself, and the table was cleared, Miss
Harold had arrived. Hugh brought his books with the rest, but, instead
of opening them, rested his elbow on the uppermost, and stared full at
Miss Harold.

"Well, Hugh!" said she, smiling.

"I have not learned quite down to 'Constantinople,'" said he. "Papa told
me I need not, and not to mind you."

"Why, Hugh! hush!" cried Jane.

"He did,--he said exactly that. But he meant, Miss Harold, that I am to
be a Crofton boy,--directly, next month."

"Then have we done with one another, Hugh?" asked Miss Harold, gently.
"Will you not learn any more from me?"

"That is for your choice, Miss Harold," observed Mr. Proctor. "Hugh has
not deserved the pains you have taken with him: and if you decline more
trouble with him now he is going into other hands, no one can wonder."

Miss Harold feared that he was but poorly prepared for school, and was
quite ready to help him, if he would give his mind to the effort. She
thought that play, or reading books that he liked, was less waste of
time than his common way of doing his lessons; but if he was disposed
really to work, with the expectation of Crofton before him, she was
ready to do her best to prepare him for the real hard work he would have
to do there.

His mother proposed that he should have time to consider whether he
would