Queenie knew this quite well; but she did not care always to remember such prohibitions, and she knew that her father never enforced discipline with any great authority. She looked at him with a saucy laugh. “Mamma would like me to live in a glass case, wrapped up in cotton wool; but I don’t think she’d keep me there long.” Sir Walter laughed too. “Now run away, puss, and take Bertie with you; and try to keep out of mischief for one day of your life, if you can.” Queenie stood on tiptoe to make her father bend down whilst she whispered in his ear,— “And you’ll make mamma let Bertie come here often? He’s a nice little boy, and has nobody to play with; and it must be _so_ dull for him living all alone with the Squire.” Sir Walter smiled at his little daughter’s way of pleading her cause. “It isn’t that you want a playfellow yourself, I suppose?” he questioned. “It’s all for Bertie’s sake, of course. Well, well, I’ll see about it. Yes, certainly, I have no objection to your playing together.” So Queenie led Bertie away in triumph, saying as she did so,— “There! I knew papa would let us be friends. Now you will have somebody to talk to when you are dull.” If Miss Queenie had expected Bertie to be very much impressed by this favor, she was certainly doomed to be disappointed. “I have somebody to talk to now,” he answered. “Yes, but not anybody who is any fun,” answered Queenie, quickly. “Grown-up people are _so_ dull.” “I wasn’t thinking of anybody grown up.” “Who were you thinking of then?” asked the little girl, regardless of grammar. “I was thinking of David,” answered Bertie. “I go to see him every day.” Queenie drew up her head in a very lofty way. “David!” she repeated, superciliously; “and pray who may David be?” “He is the fisherman’s boy,” answered Bertie, simply. “He lives in that little cottage on the sandhills down by the sea. I lived there a few days before the Squire took me. David was very kind to me then; and I am very fond of him.” Queenie’s head was held up very high. “Very fond of a fisher lad!” she repeated, very slowly and clearly, as if such an idea as that required careful investigation. “Well, perhaps in that case you had better go to your dear David. You will find him much more entertaining than me.” “No,” answered Bertie, with great gravity; “he isn’t so amusing; but I think he is a good boy. He cares about being good much more than you do.” Queenie turned round upon Bertie with an air of outraged pride and with eyes that flashed angrily. She pointed imperiously towards the boundary fence that divided the Squire’s property from her father’s. “If you are going to compare _me_ to your precious David, you need not trouble to come _here_ again. Go to your dear fisher people, since you are so fond of them. It is very plain you are not yet to be _my_ friend.”