rch for
her."

"No, no, I don't," said Agnes, who wouldn't hurt a fly if she could help
it. "I will go for a walk with you, Miss Merriman."

"Lucy, if you please," said Lucy. "We are both school-fellows, are we
not?"

"Only I feel so very small, and so very nothing at all beside you,"
replied Agnes.

"But you are a good deal beside me. It is true you are small; but how
old are you?"

"I was eleven my last birthday. I am two years younger than dear Irene;
but Irene says that I am ten years older than she is in some ways."

"Twenty--thirty--forty, I should say," remarked Lucy, with a laugh.
"Well, come along; let's have a good time. What shall we do?"

"Whatever you like--Lucy," said the little girl, making a pause before
she ventured on the Christian name.

"That's right. I am glad you called me Lucy. We all like you, little
Agnes; and it isn't in every school where the sister of one of the
governesses would be tolerated as you are tolerated here."

"I don't quite understand what you mean by that."

"Well, your sister is one of the governesses."

"Yes, I know."

"And yet we are all very fond of you."

"It is very kind of you; but they were all fond of me at Mrs. England's
school; and when I was at that sort of school at Mrs. Henderson's, where
there were boys as well as girls, the girls used to quarrel with the
boys as to who was to play with me. People have always been kind to me.
I don't exactly know why."

"But I do, I think," said Lucy; "because you are taking, and can make
people love you. It is a great gift. Now, give me your hand. We'll walk
along by the riverside. It's so pretty there, is it not?"

"Yes, lovely," said little Agnes.

Lucy walked fast. Presently they sat down on a low mossy bank, and Lucy
spread out her skirt so that Agnes might sit on it, so as to avoid any
chance of taking a chill.

"You see how careful I am of you," said the elder girl.

"All the girls are careful of me like that," said little Agnes. "I don't
exactly know why. Am I so very, very precious?"

"I expect you are to those who love you," said Lucy, coming more and
more under the glamour of little Agnes's strange power of inspiring
affection.

"When you look at me like that you seem quite kind, but sometimes you
don't look very kind; and then, you are not fond of my darling Irene and
my dearest Rosamund. I wonder why?"

"Shall I tell you?"

Lucy bent close to the little girl.

"Oh! if it is anything nast