“A nice boy!” observed Miss Sowersoft,--“a fine boy, indeed! Dear! how tall he is of his age! Come here, my boy,” and she drew him towards her, and fixed him between her knees while she stroked his hair over his forehead, and finished off with her hand at the tip of his nose. “And how should you like, my boy, to live with me, and ride on horses, and make hay, and gather up corn in harvest-time, and keep sheep and poultry, and live on all the fat of the land, as we do at Snitterton Lodge?” “Very much,” replied Colin; “I should have some rare fun there.” “Rare fun, would you?” repeated Miss Sowersoft, laughing. “Well, that is finely said. We shall see about that, my boy,--we shall see. Then you would like to go back with us, should you?” “Oh, yes; I 'll go as soon as Fanny has finished my shirts, thank you.” “And when you get there you will tell me how you like it, won't you?” “Yes, ma'am,” continued Colin; “mother has taught me always to say what I think. I shall be sure to tell you exactly.” “What a good mother!” exclaimed Miss Sowersoft. “I like her better than anybody else in the world,” added Colin. “What, better than me?” ironically demanded Miss Sowersoft. “I don't like you at all, I tell you!” he replied, at the same time breaking from her hands; “for I don't know you; and, besides, you are not half so pretty as my mother, nor Fanny either.” Miss Sowersoft blushed, and looked confused at this bit of truth--for a truth it was, which others would certainly have _thought_, but not have given utterance to. “I will teach you your manners, young Impudence, when I get hold of you, or else there are no hazel-twigs in Snitterton plantation!” _thought_ Miss Sowersoft, reversing Colin's system, and keeping that truth all to herself which she ought to have spoken. “You will take care he is well fed?” remarked Mistress Clink, somewhat in a tone of interrogation, and as though anxious to divert her visitor's thoughts to some other topic.