The Squire waited silently, hoping he would say more, but Bertie’s eyes began to open then, and, after a few seconds of great bewilderment, he appeared to recollect himself, and pressed his hand to his head, as if to quiet the confusion of his brain. “Does your head ache, Bertie?” “Yes, grandpapa. I think dreaming makes it ache worse.” “What were you dreaming about?” But he shook his head with a look of distress. “I can’t remember.” “Never mind, then; dreams are silly things, not worth remembering. Go to sleep again, and sleep the headache away.” Bertie was very comfortable; but it dawned upon him that he had never sat like this upon the Squire’s knee before. “I’m afraid I’m in your way,” he said, sleepily. “Go to sleep, child, go to sleep,” was the rejoinder; and Bertie obeyed in such good earnest that when he next awoke it was to find himself in his own bed, and the morning sunshine streaming in through the uncurtained window. He had actually slept all the rest of the day and all the night, and woke up as gay as a lark and as fresh as a kitten. So that, when the ponies came to the door and Phil ran in with his invitation to the picnic, Bertie was eager to join the pleasure party, and rushed off to the library to ask leave with a face as bright as the sunny morning. The Squire was very kind: he gave a ready assent to the proposal, and came himself to the front door to lift the child into the saddle and to “pay his respects to Miss Queenie,” as he called it. When he saw how well the boy sat, how at home he seemed on the spirited pony, and how easily he managed his reins and whip, he nodded approvingly, and said,— “So, so, Master Bertie, you have not forgotten your riding. We must see about a pony for you one of these fine days.” Bertie flushed with pleasure, and as the children rode away together Queenie said,— “He’s a very kind old man, isn’t he?” “He’s very kind to me,” answered Bertie, emphatically,—“very kind indeed!” “Is he going to adopt you?” asked the little girl, who was not always very quick to see when she gave pain by her words. Bertie flushed painfully. “I don’t know,” he answered, and the tears sparkled in his eyes. “People say he will,” asserted Queenie, “unless anybody finds out who you really are. Dr. Lighton isn’t half so sure about your ever remembering for yourself as he was at first.” “Oh, you’ll remember fast enough, never fear!” cut in Phil, whose feelings in some things were quicker than his little sister’s. “You’ll wake up some fine morning with it all as plain as a pikestaff, and meantime it won’t be half bad to be adopted by the Squire.” Bertie said nothing. He always felt sad when his forgotten past was brought up and discussed; but he knew that Phil meant kindly, and was much obliged by his friendly words.