The girl nodded. She liked the look of him. His jacket and trousers were rough and well worn, but his face was wonderfully bright and clean. She did not know when she had seen a boy's face she liked so much. There was such a glow in it, and his blue eyes were so fearless and looked at her so very straight. She did not know very many boys, and did not care much for any of those she did know. They were always either teasing or silly, and always abominably selfish. Somehow this boy did not seem any of those things. "You'd no right to watch a gentleman washing himself." "You're not a gentleman, and I couldn't help myself. At least----" "You're not a lady, and you could have gone away quite well. It's a good thing for you I didn't have a bath in the big pool there. You'd have watched just the same, I suppose, Miss Inquisitive!" "Oh!" she said sharply. "You rude thing! How did you know?" "Know what?" "That! Miss---- what you called me just now." At which he laughed out loud, a great merry laugh that did one good to listen to, and showed a set of sound white teeth and a quick apprehension. "Is that what they call you at home?" he asked, with a mischievous twinkle. "My aunties call me that. Father says 'Want-to-know gets on.'" "He's right," said the boy, with a blaze in the blue eyes. "I like your father better than your aunties. Where were you going when the beast stopped you?" "Right along there," she nodded. "All the way to the Sheils? It's a gey long way for a bit lassie like you." "I'm not a bit lassie. I'm thirteen." "Really! You're young for your age!" She was somewhat doubtful about this remark, but it felt like a compliment, so she let it pass. "What's your name?" she asked. "Kenneth Blair. What's yours?" "Jean Arnot. How old are you?" "I'll be fifteen next July." This was August. "What's that you were drawing? Is it a windmill?" staring intently down at it. "A windmill!"--with unutterable scorn. "And you say you're thirteen! That's Euclid--Prop. 47. It's a thumper too." "I haven't begun Euclid yet," she said meekly, and regarded him with a face full enough of questioning to amply justify her nickname. "Will you please tell me something?" He began to laugh, and she knew that "Miss Inquisitive" was on the tip of his tongue. He only nodded, however. "Do all the herd-boys about here do Euclid?" "I d'n' know. There's nothing to stop them if they want to." "Why do you speak so differently from most other boys? You speak almost as well as I do." A smile flickered in his face for a second, but died out, and he said quietly-- "That's easily told, anyway. My father was schoolmaster at Inverclaver. He taught me." "And does he teach you still? Where is he schoolmaster now?" He looked at her a moment in silence, and then said-- "I don't know. He's dead." "Oh! But he can't be a schoolmaster anywhere if he's dead. I'm so sorry. And of course he can't teach you either."