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“Oh yes, I should think so,” said Maggie, laughing.

“I’m very fond of you, Maggie; I shall never forget you,” said Philip. “And when I’m very unhappy, I shall always think of you, and wish I had a sister with dark eyes, just like yours.”

“Why do you like my eyes?” said Maggie, well pleased. She had never heard of any one but her father speak of her eyes as if they had merit.

“I don’t know,” said Philip. “They’re not like any other eyes. They seem trying to speak–trying to speak kindly. I don’t like other people to look at me much, but I like you to look at me, Maggie.”

“Why, I think you’re fonder of me than Tom is,” said Maggie. Then, wondering how she could convince Philip that she could like him just as well, although he was crooked, she said,–

“Should you like me to kiss you, as I do Tom? I will, if you like.”

“Yes, very much. Nobody kisses me.”

Maggie put her arm round his neck and kissed him.

“There now,” she said; “I shall always remember you, and kiss you when I see you again, if it’s ever so long. But I’ll go now, because I think Mr. Askern’s done with Tom’s foot.”

When their father came the second time, Maggie said to him, “O father, Philip Wakem is so very good to Tom; he is such a clever boy, and I do love him.–And you love him too, Tom, don’t you? Say you love him,” she added entreatingly.

Tom coloured a little as he looked at his father, and said, “I shan’t be friends with him when I leave school, father. But we’ve made it up now, since my foot has been bad; and he’s taught me to play at draughts, and I can beat him.”

“Well, well,” said Mr. Tulliver, “if he’s good to you, try and make him amends and be good to him. He’s a poor crooked creatur, and takes after his dead mother. But don’t you be getting too thick with him; he’s got his father’s blood in him too.”

* * * * *

By the time Tom had reached his last quarter at King’s Lorton the years had made striking changes in him. He was a tall youth now, and wore his tail-coat and his stand-up collars. Maggie, too, was tall now, with braided and coiled hair. She was almost as tall as Tom, though she was only thirteen; and she really looked older than he did.

At last the day came when Tom was to say good-bye to his tutor, and Maggie came over to King’s Lorton to fetch him home. Mr. Stelling put his hand on Tom’s shoulder, and said, “God bless you, my boy; let me know how you get on.” Then he pressed Maggie’s hand; but there were no audible good-byes. Tom had so often thought how joyful he should be the day he left school “for good.” And now that the great event had come, his school years seemed like a holiday that had come to an end.