“_You_, Matt,” he answered promptly. “I was trying to imagine,” he continued, seeing her blush and hang her head, “how you would look in silks and velvets; got up, in fact, like a grand demoiselle. What would you say, now, if a good fairy were to find you out some day, and were to offer to change you from what you are to a fine young lady--would you say Yes?” Matt reflected for a moment, then she followed her feminine instinct, and nodded her head vigorously. “Ah!--by the way, Matt, can you _read?_” “Print, not writing.” “And write?” “Just a bit.” “Who taught you? William Jones?” “No, that he didn’t. I learned off Tim Pensera down village. William Jones, he can’t read and he can’t write; no more can William Jones’s father.” “This last piece of information set the young man thinking so deeply that the rest of the interview became rather dull for Matt. When she rose to go, however, he came out of his abstraction, and asked her if she would return on the following day. “I don’t know--p’raps!” she said. “Ah,” returned the young man, assuming his flippant manner, “you find me tedious company, I fear. The fact is, I am generally affected in this manner in the present state of the moon. But come to-morrow, Matt. Your presence does me good.” However, the next day passed, and the next again, and there was no sign of Matt. He began to think that the child had taken offence, and that he would have to seek her in her own home, when her opportune appearance prevented the journey. He was taking his breakfast one morning inside the caravan, when he suddenly became conscious that Matt was standing outside watching him. “Oh, you are there, are you?” he said coolly. “Come in and have some breakfast, Matt.” He rose negligently, went to the door, and held forth his hand; Matt took it, gave one spring, and landed inside the vehicle. “Tim, another knife and fork for the young lady--some more eggs and milk; in fact, anything you’ve got!” said Brinkley, as he placed a seat for Matt at the little table. Tim gave a grunt of dissatisfaction. This “bold colleen,” as he called her, was becoming too much for him; but he perforce obeyed his master’s commands. Matt sat down and ate with an appetite; Brinkley played negligently with his knife, and watched her. “It is two days since you were here, Matt,” said he. “I was seriously thinking of coming to look for you. Why wouldn’t you come before?” “’Twasn’t that!” said Matt. “I couldn’t.” “Couldn’t? Why?” “Why, _he_ wouldn’t let me, William Jones. He says he’ll smash me if I come here and talk to you.” As Matt spoke, her bosom heaved and her eyes flashed fire. “He ain’t at home to-day,” she said, in answer to the young man’s query concerning the ex-wrecker; “he’s gone up to market town, and won’t be back before night.” As Brinkley looked at her, a sudden thought seemed to strike him. “Matt,” he said, “you and I will go wreck-hunting this afternoon; that is, if you’ve no objection.”