It may occur to some that there was somewhat of incongruity in the companionship of Tottie and May, but the difference between the poor man's daughter who had been raised to comparative affluence, and the gentleman's daughter who had been brought down to comparative poverty, was not so great as one might suppose. It must be remembered that Tottie had started life with a God-fearing mother, and that of itself secured her from much contamination in the midst of abounding evil, while it surrounded her with a rich influence for good. Then, latterly, she had been mentally, morally, and physically trained by Miss Lillycrop, who was a perfect pattern of propriety delicacy, good sense, and good taste. She first read to her pupil, and then made the pupil read to her. Miss Lillycrop's range of reading was wide and choice. Thus Tottie, who was naturally refined and intelligent, in time became more so by education. She had grown wonderfully too, and had acquired a certain sedateness of demeanour, which was all the more captivating that it was an utterly false index to her character, for Tottie's spirit was as wildly exuberant as that of the wildest denizen of Archangel Court. In like manner Pax had been greatly improved by his association with Phil Maylands. The vigorous strength of Phil's mind had unconsciously exercised a softening influence on his little admirer. We have said that they studied and read together. Hence Pax was learned beyond his years and station. The fitness therefore of the four to associate pleasantly has, we think, been clearly made out. Pax, at all events, had not a shadow of a doubt on that point, especially when the four lay down under the shadow of a spreading oak to examine the butterflies and moths they had captured in the fields. "What babies we are," said Phil, "to go after butterflies in this fashion!" "Speak for yourself," retorted Pax; "I consider myself an entomologist gathering specimens. Call 'em specimens, Phil; that makes a world of difference.--Oh, Tot! what a splendid one you have got there! It reminds me so of the time when I used to carry you about the fields on my back, and call you Merry. Don't you remember?" "No," said Tottie, "I don't." "And _won't_ you let me call you Merry?" pleaded Pax. "No, I won't. I don't believe you ever carried me on your back, or that my name was Merry." "What an unbeliever!" exclaimed Pax. "You can't deny that you are merry to-day, Tot," said May. Tot did not deny it, but, so to speak, admitted it by starting up and giving sudden chase to a remarkably bright butterfly that passed at the moment.