some one else to teach her."

"And some one else to take the money! Besides, Mrs. Barton is so
kind--"

Bertie, who was lying on three chairs in front of the fire, sat up
directly and looked resigned: "That's it! now for it! No one is so
good as Mrs. Barton, except Miss Crawford; and no one is anything like
Miss Crawford, except Mrs. Barton. Oh, I know! And old Clifton is
the first and best of men. And so you lavish your gratitude on
them--Judith, _why_ are all our benefactors such awful guys?--while
they ought to be thanking their stars they've got us!"

"Nonsense, Bertie!"

"'Tisn't nonsense. Aren't you better than I am? And old Clifton is
very lucky to get such an organist. I think he is thankful, but I wish
he wouldn't show it by asking me to tea again."

"Don't complain of Mr. Clifton," said Judith. "You are very fortunate,
if you only knew it."

"Am I? Then suppose you go to tea with him if you are so fond of him.
I rather think I shall have a severe cold coming on next Tuesday."

Judith said no more, being tolerably sure that when Tuesday came
Bertie would go. But she was not quite happy about him. She lived as
if she idolized the spoilt boy, but the blindness which makes idolatry
joyful was denied to her. So that, though he was her first thought
every day of her life, the thought was an anxious one. She was very
grateful to Miss Crawford for having given him a chance, so young and
untried as he was, but she could only hope that Bertie would not repay
her kindness by some thoughtless neglect. At present all had gone
well: there could be no question about his abilities, Miss Crawford
was satisfied, and the young master got on capitally with his pupils.
Neither was Judith happy when he was with Mr. Clifton. Bertie came
home to mimic the clergyman with boyish recklessness, and she feared
that the same kind of thing went on with some of the choir behind Mr.
Clifton's back. ("Behind his back?" Bertie said one day. "Under his
nose, if you like: it would be all one to Clifton.") He frightened
her with his carelessness in money-matters and his scarcely concealed
contempt for the means by which he lived. "Thank Heaven! this hasn't
got to last for ever," he said once when she remonstrated.

"Don't reckon on anything else," she pleaded. "I know what you are
thinking of. Oh, Bertie, I don't like you to count on that."

He threw back his head, and laughed: "Well, if that fails, wait and
see what I can do for myself