"Did I? That is very odd, for I fancied I knew nothing; and I want to learn every thing--if Mr. Cardross will teach me. I should like to sit and read all day long. I could do it by myself, now that I have found out a way of holding the book and turning over the leaves without nurse's helping me. Malcolm invented it--Malcolm is so clever and so kind." "Is Malcolm always with you?" "Oh yes; how could I do without Malcolm? And you are quite sure your father will teach me every thing I want to learn?" pursued the little earl, very eagerly. Helen was quite sure. "And there is another thing. Mr. Menteith says I must try, if possible, to learn to write--if only so as to be able to sign my name. In eleven more years, when I am a man, he says I shall often be required to sign my name. Do you think I could manage to learn?" Helen looked at the poor, twisted, powerless fingers, and doubted it very much. Still she said cheerfully, "It would anyhow be a good thing to try." "So it would--and I'll try. I'll begin tomorrow. Will you"--with a pathetic entreaty in the soft eyes--"it might be too much trouble for Mr. Cardross--but will you teach me?" "Yes, my dear!" said Helen, warmly, "that I will." "Thank you. And"--still hesitating--"please would you always call me 'my dear' instead of 'my lord;' and might I call you Helen?" So they "made a paction 'twixt them twa"--the poor little helpless, crippled boy, and the bright, active, energetic girl--the earl's son and minister's daughter--one of those pactions which grow out of an inner similitude which counteracts all outward dissimilarity; and they never broke it while they lived. "Has my lamb enjoyed himself?" inquired Mrs. Campbell, anxiously and affectionately, when she reappeared from the Manse kitchen. Then, with a sudden resumption of dignity, "I beg your pardon, Miss Cardross, but this is the first time his lordship has ever been out to dinner." "Oh, nurse, how I wish I might go out to dinner every Sunday! I am sure this has been the happiest day of all my life." Chapter 4 If the "happiest day in all his life" had been the first day the earl spent at Cairnforth Manse, which very likely it was, he took the first possible opportunity of renewing his happiness. Early on Monday forenoon, while Helen's ever-active hands were still busy clearing away the six empty porridge plates, and the one tea-cup which had contained the beverage which the minister loved, but which was too dear a luxury for any but the father of the family, Malcolm Campbell's large shadow was seen darkening the window. "There's the earl!" cried Helen, whose quick eye had already caught sight of the white little face muffled up in Malcolm's plaid, and the soft black curls resting on his shoulder, damp with rain, and blown about by the wind, for it was what they called at Loch Beg a "coarse" day.