've got to stay.
I'm a legacy. I'm left to Aunt Eunice yonder, and she can keep me long
as she likes. When she doesn't like, she can send me to boarding-school.
I'm an orphan. I hope she _will_ like, because I love her already, only
she's so correct I know I shall shock her a dozen times a day. I'm
fourteen years old. My home was in Baltimore. I came on to New York
yesterday with a friend of the second Mrs. John's--I mean, of Mrs.
Maitland's--and stayed there last night. To-day I came on the train as
far as it went, then in the stage with the queer driver blowing a horn.
It was just like a story-book. This home, too, and everybody might be
out of a story-book, all so unlike anything I ever saw. But, I beg your
pardon. I've just thought that, though you seem to hear well enough,
maybe you are dumb. Are you? Because if you are I can talk a little
myself in the sign language."

This was too much. Monty burst forth in self-defence, and to stop that
running chatter of hers:

"N-n-n-no! I-I-I-I--"

Then silence. Katharine had never before met a person who stammered, and
she was utterly astonished. At that moment, also, there was a lull in
the animated conversation which the two old ladies opposite had hitherto
kept up, so that Montgomery's loud yet uncertain protest fell like a
bomb on the air.

However, the silence was not to last. Katharine recovered from her
surprise, and demanded, indignantly:

"Why do you say 'I-I-I-I'? Are you mocking me? because if you are, I
consider that more ungentlemanly than to make eyes."

"No, Kate, Montgomery is unfortunate. He stutters. You should apologize.
To jeer at the infirmity of others is the depth of ill-breeding,"
interposed Miss Maitland, hastily crossing the room and laying a
reproving hand upon the girl's shoulder. Then she continued, smiling
affectionately upon the lad: "But we who all know and love Montgomery
are sure that he will, in time, overcome his impediment. 'Tis only a
matter of practice and patience."

The boy made no reply, but sat with down-bent head and flushing face,
wishing again, as when this dreadful visit was appointed him, that
Katharine Maitland had never set foot in Marsden village. Longing, too,
with a longing unspeakable, to retort upon her with a volubility and
sharpness exceeding even her own. But all unconsciously his pride had
received just the sting needed, and his angry thought, in which there
was no halting stammer, was this:

"I'll show he