“Are you brave?” asked Queenie, suddenly. Bertie shook his head gravely. “I don’t know. I want to be; but I don’t know if I am. I try.” “How do you try?” The color rose in the child’s face, and he turned his head a little away whilst he made his answer. “I try not to fret and be unhappy because—because I haven’t any home or name or anything. I try to love God, and ask Him to make things come right when He thinks best. I want to be good, and not to be impatient or ungrateful or naughty. I can’t say it properly; but I do try.” Bertie stopped short. He had not made his meaning at all clear, yet he knew himself what he had in his mind. Queenie was very much surprised at being talked to so seriously. She had never in her life been troubled by thoughts such as these. It seemed to her rather awful and unnatural. “Bertie,” she said, rather severely, “are you saying all that because you think it sounds fine?” He looked very much surprised. “All what?” “Why, all that about God. You can’t really care about Him, you know.” Bertie was silent. He knew that he did love God, and did believe that He was taking care of him; but he did not in the least know how to say it all to Queenie. “Yes, I do,” he answered, after a long pause. “How? I don’t understand.” Bertie was silent again, and then said, slowly,— “Perhaps, if you’d got nobody belonging to you, you would understand. I can’t explain; only it just seems as if everything else had gone but God. He is there always—and I’ve nobody now but Him.” Bertie’s lips quivered, and Queenie was touched. “Never mind, Bertie,” she said, quickly; “it will all come right some day; and I’ll never tease you or be cross any more.” A smile stole over Bertie’s face. “That will be nice,” he said. “And Phil is never cross. We’ll both help you to be happy. Only you must not be _too_ good, you know, or we shall be frightened of you.” Bertie’s face was bright again now. He did not quite understand Queenie’s words, but he saw that she was friendly again. “You shall come to see us soon,” she said. “Have you any lessons to do?” “No; the doctor says I mustn’t do any yet; but I read in the Squire’s study sometimes.” “I wish I mightn’t do any either,” said Queenie, enviously; “but I don’t suppose I shall do much, now Phil is at home, so we shall have plenty of time to play together.” Here Phil came rushing up, full of plans for future fun. David had said that his father’s boat would soon be back now, and that then they could go out rowing or sailing together. David knew all the creeks and islands along the coast, the cliffs where the sea-gulls bred, and all the places where fun was to be obtained. Phil was utterly and entirely delighted, and as he went home he confided to Queenie that running away from school was the best thing in the world. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER X. BERTIE’S NEW FRIENDS.