“Yes,” cried she, eagerly, “his last letter says that he rides old Dobbin about just as well as ever; 'perhaps it is,' says he, 'that having both of us grown old together, we bear our years with more tolerance to each other;' but won't you sit down, Tony? you 're not going away till I have talked a little with you.” “Is the music lesson finished, Miss Stewart?” asked the thin lady, sternly. “Yes, ma'am; we have done everything but sacred history.” “Everything but the one important task, you might have said, Miss Stewart; but, perhaps, you are not now exactly in the temperament to resume teaching for to-day; and as this young gentleman's mission is apparently to report, not only on your health but your happiness, I shall leave you a quarter of an hour to give him his instructions.” “I hate that woman,” muttered Tony, as the door closed after her. “No, Tony, she's not unkind; but she doesn't exactly see the world the way you and I used long ago. What a great big man you have grown!” “And what a fine tall girl, you! And I used to call you a stump!” “Ay, there were few compliments wasted between us in those days; but weren't they happy?” “Do you remember them all, Dolly?” “Every one of them,--the climbing the big cherry-tree the day the branch broke, and we both fell into the melon-bed; the hunting for eels under the stones in the river,--was n't that rare sport? and going out to sea in that leaky little boat that I 'd not have courage to cross the Thames in now!--oh, Tony, tell me, you never were so jolly since?” “I don't think I was; and what's worse, Dolly, I doubt if I ever shall be.” The tone of deep despondency of these words went to her heart, and her lip trembled, as she said,-- “Have you had any bad news of late? is there anything going wrong with you?” “No, Dolly, nothing new, nothing strange, nothing beyond the fact that I have been staring at, though I did not see it three years back, that I am a great hulking idle dog, of no earthly use to himself or to anybody else. However, I _have_ opened my eyes to it at last; and here I am, come to seek my fortune, as we used to say long ago, which, after all, seems a far nicer thing in a fairy book than when reduced to a fact.” Dolly gave a little short cough, to cover a faint sigh which escaped her; for she, too, knew something about seeking her fortune, and that the search was not always a success. “And what are you thinking of doing, Tony?” asked she, eagerly. “Like all lazy good-for-nothings, I begin by begging; that is to say, I have been to a great man this morning who knew my father, to ask him to give me something,--to make me something.” “A soldier, I suppose?”