Christine carefully opened the parcel and then exclaimed with delight: "Strawberries, as I live! the very ambrosia of the gods. Papa sent them, did he not?" "No," said the boy, hanging his head. "Who did, then?" said Christine, looking at him keenly. He shuffled uneasily, but made no answer. "Come, I insist on knowing," she cried, her wilful spirit and curiosity both aroused. The boy was pale and frightened, and she was mentally taking notes of his face. But he said, doggedly, "I can't tell." "But I say you must. Don't you know that I am Miss Ludolph?" "I don't care what you do to me," said the little fellow, beginning to cry, "I won't tell." "Why won't you tell, my boy?" said Christine, cunningly, in a wheedling tone of voice. Before he knew it, the frightened, bewildered boy fell into the trap, and he sobbed, "Because Mr. Fleet told me not to, and I wouldn't disobey him to save my life." A look of surprise, and then a broad smile, stole over the young girl's face--at the gift, the messenger, and at him who sent it. It was indeed a fresh and unexpected little episode, breaking the monotony of the day--as fresh and pleasing to her as one of the luscious berries so grateful to her parched mouth. "You need not tell me," she said, soothingly, "if Mr. Fleet told you not to." The boy saw the smile, and in a moment realized that he had been tricked out of the forbidden knowledge. His little face glowed with honest indignation, and looking straight at Miss Ludolph, with his great eyes flashing through the tears, he said, "You stole that from me." Even she colored a little and bit her lip under the merited charge. But all this made him all the more interesting as an art study, and she was now sketching away rapidly. She coolly replied, however, "You don't know the world very well yet, my little man." The boy said nothing, but stood regarding her with his unnaturally large eyes filled with anger, reproach, and wonder. "Oh," thought Christine, "if I could only paint that expression!" "You seem a great friend of Mr. Fleet," she said, studying and sketching him as if he had been an inanimate object. The boy made no answer. "Perhaps you do not know that I am a friend--friendly," she added, correcting herself, "to Mr. Fleet also." "Mr. Fleet never likes to have his friends do wrong," said the boy, doubtingly. Again she colored a little, for Ernst's pure and reproachful face made her feel that she had done a mean thing, but she laughed said: "You see I am not in his mission class, and have never had the instruction that you have. But, after all, why do you think Mr. Fleet better than other people?" "By what he does." "That is a fair test; what has he done?" "He saved us all from starving, and worse than starving."