e say," said Griselda. "He _is_ such a nice little boy."

"But, missie," began Dorcas.

"Well? What's the matter? You needn't look like that--as if I had done
something naughty," said Griselda sharply.

"But you'll tell your aunt, missie?"

"Of course," said Griselda, looking up fearlessly into Dorcas's face
with her bright grey eyes. "Of course; why shouldn't I? I must ask her
to give the little boy leave to come into _our_ grounds; and I told the
little boy to be sure to tell his nurse, who takes care of him, about
his playing with me."

"His nurse," repeated Dorcas, in a tone of some relief. "Then he must be
quite a little boy, perhaps Miss Grizzel would not object so much in
that case."

"Why should she object at all? She might know I wouldn't want to play
with a naughty rude boy," said Griselda.

"She thinks all boys rude and naughty, I'm afraid, missie," said
Dorcas. "All, that is to say, excepting your dear papa. But then, of
course, she had the bringing up of _him_ in her own way from the
beginning."

"Well, I'll ask her, any way," said Griselda, "and if she says I'm not
to play with him, I shall think--I know what I shall _think_ of Aunt
Grizzel, whether I _say_ it or not."

And the old look of rebellion and discontent settled down again on her
rosy face.

"Be careful, missie, now do, there's a dear good girl," said Dorcas
anxiously, an hour later, when Griselda, dressed as usual in her little
white muslin frock, was ready to join her aunts at dessert.

But Griselda would not condescend to make any reply.

"Aunt Grizzel," she said suddenly, when she had eaten an orange and
three biscuits and drunk half a glass of home-made elder-berry wine,
"Aunt Grizzel, when I was out in the garden to-day--down the wood-path,
I mean--I met a little boy, and he played with me, and I want to know
if he may come every day to play with me."

Griselda knew she was not making her request in a very amiable or
becoming manner; she knew, indeed, that she was making it in such a way
as was almost certain to lead to its being refused; and yet, though she
was really so very, very anxious to get leave to play with little Phil,
she took a sort of spiteful pleasure in injuring her own cause.

How _foolish_ ill-temper makes us! Griselda had allowed herself to get
so angry at the _thought_ of being thwarted that had her aunt looked up
quietly and said at once, "Oh yes, you may have the little boy to play
with you whenever yo