She frowned slightly; turned them back, every one, then said gravely-- "You must not come here any more; it is the study of Cornelius. He reads and writes here." "Did he paint them?" I asked, with sudden interest. "No," was the short answer; "they are by my father, who has been dead some years." "Why does he not paint pictures too?" "Bless the child!" exclaimed Miss O'Reilly, turning on me a flushed and annoyed face; but she checked herself to observe, "He is at a bank, and has neither time nor inclination for painting." With this we left the room, and went down to the front parlour, where she worked, and I amused myself with a book until the clock struck five. I then looked up at Miss O'Reilly. "Yes," she said, smiling, "he will soon be here." But there was a delay of ten or fifteen minutes: she saw me restless with expectation, and good-naturedly told me I might go and look out for him at the back-door. I jumped up with an eagerness that again made her smile, and having promised not to pass the threshold of the garden, I ran out to watch for Cornelius, as I had formerly so often watched for my father. The lane was green, silent, and lonely, with high hawthorn hedges, a few overshadowing trees, and a narrow path ever encroached on by grass, weeds, and low trailing plants. Ere long I saw Cornelius appear in the distance; he walked with his eyes on the ground, and never saw me until he had reached the door. He entered, and in passing by me carelessly stroked my hair by way of greeting. To his sister, who stood waiting for him on the last step of the house, he gave the embrace without which they never met or parted. The tea was made and waiting. Miss O'Reilly poured it out, and called me from where I sat apart, feeling shy and unnoticed, to hand his cup to her brother, who was again lying on the sofa. He asked how I had behaved. "Too well; she is too quiet." "Shall we send her to school!" said Cornelius. I turned round from the table, to give him an entreating look, which he did not heed. "She is too weak; we must teach her ourselves," replied his sister. I heard the decision with great relief. A school was my horror. When the meal was over, I made my way to Cornelius, and half whispered-- "Will _you_ teach me?" "Perhaps so; well, don't look disappointed--I will." "What do you know?" "Grammar, history, geography--" "I can vouch for the geography," interrupted Miss O'Reilly. "We shall see." He examined me; I did my best to answer well, and waited for his verdict with a beating heart. "What do you think of her?" asked his sister, who now re-entered the room, which she had left for awhile. "She won't fit in it!" replied Cornelius, giving me a perplexed look. "What?" "Ah! I forgot to tell you. I bought her a cot, or crib--what do you call it?--I fear she won't fit in it! Can't we shorten her?" "You have bought her a bed!" exclaimed Miss O'Reilly, looking confounded, and laying down her work.