“I’ve got a cut on my thumb,” said he. It was the first work of his first real knife, a savage triangular hack, and he esteemed it a most valuable possession. “I’m tho thorry!” she lisped. “Let me look pleathe.” “There’s a di-ack-lum plaster on, but it’s all raw under,” Georgie answered, complying. “Dothent it hurt?”—her grey eyes were full of pity and interest. “Awf’ly. Perhaps it will give me lockjaw.” “It lookth very horrid. I’m _tho_ thorry!” She put a forefinger to his hand, and held her head sidewise for a better view. Here the nurse turned, and shook him severely. “You mustn’t talk to strange little girls, Master Georgie.” “She isn’t strange. She’s very nice. I like her, an’ I’ve showed her my new cut.” “The idea! You change places with me.” She moved him over, and shut out the little girl from his view, while the grown-up behind renewed the futile explanations. “I am _not_ afraid, truly,” said the boy, wriggling in despair; “but why don’t you go to sleep in the afternoons, same as Provost of Oriel?” Georgie had been introduced to a grown-up of that name, who slept in his presence without apology. Georgie understood that he was the most important grown-up in Oxford; hence he strove to gild his rebuke with flatteries. This grown-up did not seem to like it, but he collapsed, and Georgie lay back in his seat, silent and enraptured. Mr. Pepper was singing again, and the deep, ringing voice, the red fire, and the misty, waving gown all seemed to be mixed up with the little girl who had been so kind about his cut. When the performance was ended she nodded to Georgie, and Georgie nodded in return. He spoke no more than was necessary till bedtime, but meditated on new colors and sounds and lights and music and things as far as he understood them; the deep-mouthed agony of Mr. Pepper mingling with the little girl’s lisp. That night he made a new tale, from which he shamelessly removed the Rapunzel-Rapunzel-let-down-your-hair princess, gold crown, Grimm edition, and all, and put a new Annie_an_louise in her place. So it was perfectly right and natural that when he came to the brushwood-pile he should find her waiting for him, her hair combed off her forehead more like Alice in Wonderland than ever, and the races and adventures began.