“No, but I'm afraid you are angry with me,” the boy answered. “Are you?” “Well, not exactly, but, you see, my boy--” Galt checked himself, for the corners of the little fellow's mouth were drawn down and his eyes were filling. “You _are_ angry, and you don't like me a bit.” A sob rose in the breast of the child and struggled outward. He drew his little hands from Galt's detaining clasp and looked down. “I am very sorry; I'll never, never do it again. I was bad. You told me not to jump, but I did. I am always disobeying somebody. When Doctor Wynn told me a great, smart, rich man was coming who had built a railroad, miles and miles through the woods and under mountains and over rivers, I told him I'd be good and make you think I was a nice boy, so that you'd like me; but now, you see, I went and made you angry at the very start.” “Well, what if I tell you this, you dear little chap,” and Galt paused and took him into his arms again; “what if I tell you that it was because I liked you very, very much that I tried to stop you? You see, I was afraid you'd get hurt, and I liked you so much that I wanted to prevent it. Will that satisfy you?” “Oh!” Galt felt the little, warm arm steal round his neck confidently. “Then you really _do_ like me, after all.” Galt laughed; he could hardly understand the emotion that welled up in him--he laughed that he might hide it even from himself. “I'll tell you _this_ much,” he said: “I like _nearly all_ little boys, but on my honor I never liked a boy, on a short acquaintance, in my life, so much as I do you. There, now, come on and get a cup of tea!” With Lionel in his arms, he went back to the table and sat down, keeping him in his lap. There was a sensitive shadow on Margaret's features and a certain awkward look of sympathy for her on her uncle's strong face, but Galt failed to remark them. “Does your mamma let you drink tea?” Margaret asked, gently. . “No, I thank you,” the child answered. “She says it's too strong a stim--stim--” “Stimulant.” Galt supplied the word with a hearty laugh of amusement. “I declare, for a child, you have the largest vocabulary--if you know what that is--that I ever ran across. By-the-way”--and he drew the boy's head down against his breast and ran his hand through the soft, scented tresses--“you haven't told me your name yet. What is it?” “Lionel,” replied the boy. “Well, that is pretty enough so far as it goes, but what else?” “What do you mean by 'what else'?” The child had hold of Galt's disengaged hand, and was toying with it as if admiring its strength and size, and he paused to look up into the dark face bending over him. “Why, I mean, what is your _full_ name?” Galt said, smiling into the rather grave faces about him.