“No, indeed, I don’t!” she answered crossly; for to her the open air at night seemed wrong, disreputable. There was something unholy in it! “I would rather stay here,” said Clare. “Why?” “Because you don’t quite believe me, ma’am. You can’t; and you can’t help it. You wouldn’t be able to sleep for thinking that a boy just out of prison was lying in the greenhouse. There would be no saying what he might not do! I once read in a newspaper how an old lady took a lad into her house for a servant, and he murdered her!--No, ma’am, thank you! After such a supper we shall sleep beautifully!--Sha’n’t we, Abby? And then, perhaps, you could give me a job in the garden to-morrow! I daresay the gardener wants a little help sometimes! But if he knew me to have slept in the greenhouse, he would hate me.” The old lady said nothing, for, like most old ladies, she feared her gardener. She took the tumbler from the boy’s hand, and went into the house. But in two minutes she came again, with another great piece of bread for Clare, and a bone with something on it which she threw to Abdiel. The dog’s ears started up, erect and alive, like individual creatures, and his eyes gleamed; but he looked at his master, and would not touch the bone without his leave--which given, he fell upon it, and worried it as if it had been a rat. Clare was now himself again, and when the old lady left them for the third time, he walked with her across the way, bread in hand, to open the gate for her. When she was inside, he took off his cap, and bade her good-night with a grace that won all that was left to be won of her heart. Before she had taken three steps from the gate, the old lady turned. “Boy!” she called; and Clare, who was making for his couch under the stars, hastened back at the sound of her voice. “I shall not be able to sleep,” she said, “for thinking of you out there in the bleak night!” “I am used to it, ma’am!” “Oh, I daresay! but you see I’m not! and I don’t like the thought of it! You may like hoarfrost-sheets, for what I know, but I don’t! You may like the stars for a tester--because you want to die and go to them, I suppose!--but I have no fancy for the stars! You are a foolish fellow, and I am out of temper with you. You don’t give a thought to me--or to my feelings if you should die! I should never go to bed again with a good conscience!--Besides, I should have to nurse you!” The last member of her expostulation was hardly in logical sequence, but it had not the less influence on Clare for that. “I will do whatever you please, ma’am,” he answered humbly. “--Come, Abdiel!” The dog came running across the road with his bone in his mouth. “You mustn’t bring that inside the gate, Ab!” said Clare. The dog dropped it. “Good dog! It’s a lady’s garden, you know, Abdiel!” Then turning to his hostess, Clare added, “I always tell him when I’m pleased with him: don’t you think it right, ma’am?” “I daresay! I don’t know anything about dogs.”