“I’ve got to be strong and of good courage,” he said. “Well, I’ll try. I’d like to be that—boys ought to be brave and strong. I’ll ask God to help me, and not to forget me much longer”—the child’s hand was pressed to his head now, and he added, with a strange glance at his companion,—“only we must always say, ‘Thy will be done,’ too.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VI. THE FIRST INTERVIEW. “SO you have come at last, have you?” said Queenie, tossing her curly head and speaking with a sort of disdainful pride. “I thought you had most likely forgotten all about it.” Queenie had been waiting for some time by the old oak tree near to the sunk fence, and during that time she had mounted her “high horse,” and was by no means disposed at once to quit her exalted position. A very imperious and exacting young lady could little Miss Arbuthnot show herself when she had a mind to do so. “You didn’t say any particular time, you know,” answered Bertie, gently. “I said afternoon,” returned Queenie, with dignity. “That means after dinner, of course. I came as soon as I could get out after dinner, and if you had been what people _say_ you are, you would have done the same.” “What do people say I am?” asked Bertie. “They say you are a gentleman,” answered Queenie; “but _I_ don’t feel so sure about it. Do you think you are?” Bertie shook his head. “Oh no! I’m only a little boy.” “_That_ doesn’t make any difference,” cried Queenie, impatiently. “What a stupid little boy you must be! I’m only a little girl; but then I’m a lady too, as you can see for yourself.” Bertie’s eyes opened wide. “Are you?” he questioned, innocently. “I don’t think I should have known.” Queenie drew herself up for a moment, as if she were going to walk away in a pet; but, as Bertie did not in the least understand his own enormities and showed no disposition to follow and humble himself, she stopped short and began to laugh instead. Bertie understood that sort of thing, and he joined in the laugh, without quite knowing why. “You’re such a funny little boy,” said Queenie. “You’re not a bit like my brothers; but I like you. I think we shall be friends, don’t you?” “I should like it,” answered Bertie; “only—” “Well? Only what?” “Only the Squire didn’t think you’d be allowed to play with me.” “Did he say so? When?” “At dinner-time yesterday, when I asked if I might play with you. He said I might; but he didn’t think you’d be let to play with me.” Queenie laughed and tossed her head. “I think the Squire is a very clever old man; but you see I’m cleverer still.” “How?” “Why, because I do things without asking leave. It saves _such_ a lot of trouble.” Bertie looked rather scandalized. “Do you mean you wouldn’t be allowed to play with me if people knew about it?”