"The boys have been teasing you, I suppose? You shouldn't take any notice of them. Tom's never happy without he's humbugging some one, and I dare say your brother is as bad!" "Oh no!" she exclaimed, realizing he meant his advice kindly. "I've been having a lovely time picking cowslips, and we've been playing 'Hunt the Hare.' I got left behind, and—" "Is that why you've been crying?" he inquired in accents of contempt. "Oh no, no! It was—I was thinking how happy I was, and wishing my mother knew, and then—she is dead, you know." She paused, having become somewhat incoherent. Her companion made no response, though he thought he was beginning to comprehend the situation. "I don't suppose you can understand," she proceeded, "because your mother is living—" "Oh yes, I can," he interrupted. "I expect it makes you unhappy when you think of your mother, and that's why you cried?" "No, not because I'm unhappy, but because I miss her so. Sometimes when I'm happiest I miss her most." "Well, I wouldn't cry any more if I were you," he counselled, looking puzzled at her reply. A slightly sarcastic smile crept over his face as he continued, "Why should you cry if you are not unhappy? But, there, I suppose being a girl you can't help piping your eye. Girls are all the same." Angel made no response to this, for though she was indignant, she thought it better not to enter into an argument with Gilbert. She felt annoyed that he should have caught her in tears; but she was greatly surprised when his next remark showed how plainly he read what was passing through her mind. "I say," he said, "you're vexed I came along just now, aren't you? You need not mind. I shan't tell the others you've been blubbering. You were very fond of your mother, eh?" "Oh yes! You're fond of your mother, aren't you?" He nodded, his face softening into a smile. Then he asked if she meant to follow the others, and receiving a reply in the negative, inquired if she knew her way home. "No," Angel returned, "but I think I know my way back to the meadow where we picked the cowslips; I must go back to get my basket, and for certain the others will return there too." "I may as well go with you. Oh, I can climb a hedge!" he told her as he noticed her dubious look; "if my legs are not up to much, my crutches are strong, and I know how to use them to some purpose, I can tell you." She was surprised with what dexterity he managed to swing himself up the hedge, and drop off it on to the other side. She followed with far less agility. "Can I assist you?" he asked sarcastically as he watched her slow, cautious movements; "you are not such a good climber as I am, after all!"