little flurried by the
unexpected visit, and the schoolmaster was not at his ease. But he never
was, quite.

'I told Mr Headstone you were not settled, Liz, but he was so kind as to
take an interest in coming, and so I brought him. How well you look!'

Bradley seemed to think so.

'Ah! Don't she, don't she?' cried the person of the house, resuming her
occupation, though the twilight was falling fast. 'I believe you she
does! But go on with your chat, one and all:

You one two three,
My com-pa-nie,
And don't mind me.'

--pointing this impromptu rhyme with three points of her thin
fore-finger.

'I didn't expect a visit from you, Charley,' said his sister. 'I
supposed that if you wanted to see me you would have sent to me,
appointing me to come somewhere near the school, as I did last time.
I saw my brother near the school, sir,' to Bradley Headstone, 'because
it's easier for me to go there, than for him to come here. I work about
midway between the two places.'

'You don't see much of one another,' said Bradley, not improving in
respect of ease.

'No.' With a rather sad shake of her head. 'Charley always does well, Mr
Headstone?'

'He could not do better. I regard his course as quite plain before him.'

'I hoped so. I am so thankful. So well done of you, Charley dear! It is
better for me not to come (except when he wants me) between him and his
prospects. You think so, Mr Headstone?'

Conscious that his pupil-teacher was looking for his answer, that he
himself had suggested the boy's keeping aloof from this sister, now seen
for the first time face to face, Bradley Headstone stammered:

'Your brother is very much occupied, you know. He has to work hard. One
cannot but say that the less his attention is diverted from his work,
the better for his future. When he shall have established himself, why
then--it will be another thing then.'

Lizzie shook her head again, and returned, with a quiet smile: 'I always
advised him as you advise him. Did I not, Charley?'

'Well, never mind that now,' said the boy. 'How are you getting on?'

'Very well, Charley. I want for nothing.'

'You have your own room here?'

'Oh yes. Upstairs. And it's quiet, and pleasant, and airy.'

'And she always has the use of this room for visitors,' said the
person of the house, screwing up one of her little bony fists, like an
opera-glass, and looking through it, with her eyes and her chin in that
quaint accordance.