but that his nurse led him
away to an afternoon performance of a thing called "Pepper's Ghost."
This was intensely thrilling. People's heads came off and flew all over
the stage, and skeletons danced bone by bone, while Mr. Pepper himself,
beyond question a man of the worst, waved his arms and flapped a long
gown, and in a deep bass voice (Georgie had never heard a man sing
before) told of his sorrows unspeakable. Some grown-up or other tried to
explain that the illusion was made with mirrors, and that there was no
need to be frightened. Georgie did not know what illusions were, but he
did know that a mirror was the looking-glass with the ivory handle on
his mother's dressing-table. Therefore the "grown-up" was "just saying
things" after the distressing custom of "grown-ups," and Georgie cast
about for amusement between scenes. Next to him sat a little girl
dressed all in black, her hair combed off her forehead exactly like the
girl in the book called "Alice in Wonderland," which had been given him
on his last birthday. The little girl looked at Georgie, and Georgie
looked at her. There seemed to be no need of any further introduction.

"I've got a cut on my thumb," said he. It was the first work of his
first real knife, a savage triangular hack, and he esteemed it a most
valuable possession.

"I'm tho thorry!" she lisped. "Let me look pleathe."

"There's a di-ack-lum plaster on, but it's all raw under," Georgie
answered, complying.

"Dothent it hurt?"--her grey eyes were full of pity and interest.

"Awf'ly. Perhaps it will give me lockjaw."

"It lookth very horrid. I'm tho thorry!" She put a forefinger to his
hand, and held her head sidewise for a better view.

Here the nurse turned, and shook him severely. "You mustn't talk to
strange little girls, Master Georgie."

"She isn't strange. She's very nice. I like her, an' I've showed her my
new cut."

"The idea! You change places with me."

She moved him over, and shut out the little girl from his view, while
the grown-up behind renewed the futile explanations.

"I am not afraid, truly," said the boy, wriggling in despair; "but why
don't you go to sleep in the afternoons, same as Provost of Oriel?"

Georgie had been introduced to a grown-up of that name, who slept in
his presence without apology. Georgie understood that he was the most
important grown-up in Oxford; hence he strove to gild his rebuke with
flatteries. This grown-up did not seem to like it, bu