t know what you say."

"I _am desperately_ fond of her. She is the light of my eyes. I said so
to Mr. Moore last night."

"He would reprove you for speaking with exaggeration."

"He didn't. He never reproves and reproves, as girls' governesses do. He
was reading, and he only smiled into his book, and said that if Miss
Keeldar was no more than that, she was less than he took her to be; for
I was but a dim-eyed, short-sighted little chap. I'm afraid I am a poor
unfortunate, Miss Caroline Helstone. I am a cripple, you know."

"Never mind, Henry, you are a very nice little fellow; and if God has
not given you health and strength, He has given you a good disposition
and an excellent heart and brain."

"I shall be despised. I sometimes think both Shirley and you despise
me."

"Listen, Henry. Generally, I don't like schoolboys. I have a great
horror of them. They seem to me little ruffians, who take an unnatural
delight in killing and tormenting birds, and insects, and kittens, and
whatever is weaker than themselves. But you are so different I am quite
fond of you. You have almost as much sense as a man (far more, God wot,"
she muttered to herself, "than many men); you are fond of reading, and
you can talk sensibly about what you read."

"I _am_ fond of reading. I know I have sense, and I know I have
feeling."

Miss Keeldar here entered.

"Henry," she said, "I have brought your lunch here. I shall prepare it
for you myself."

She placed on the table a glass of new milk, a plate of something which
looked not unlike leather, and a utensil which resembled a
toasting-fork.

"What are you two about," she continued, "ransacking Mr. Moore's desk?"

"Looking at your old copy-books," returned Caroline.

"My old copy-books?"

"French exercise-books. Look here! They must be held precious; they are
kept carefully."

She showed the bundle. Shirley snatched it up. "Did not know one was in
existence," she said. "I thought the whole lot had long since lit the
kitchen fire, or curled the maid's hair at Sympson Grove.--What made you
keep them, Henry?"

"It is not my doing. I should not have thought of it. It never entered
my head to suppose copy-books of value. Mr. Moore put them by in the
inner drawer of his desk. Perhaps he forgot them."

"C'est cela. He forgot them, no doubt," echoed Shirley. "They are
extremely well written," she observed complacently.

"What a giddy girl you were, Shirley, in those days! I remember