“There are examinations for everything, I think,” said Lottie, shaking her head mournfully; “that is the dreadful thing; and you see, Mr. Ashford, we are poor. He has not a penny; he must work for his living; and how is he to get started? That is what I am always saying. But what is the use of speaking? You know what boys are. Perhaps if I had been able to insist upon it years ago--but then I was very young too. I had no sense, any more than Law.” The Minor Canon was greatly touched. The evening dew got into his eyes--he stood by her in the soft summer darkness, wondering. He was a great deal older than Lottie--old enough to be her father, he said to himself; but he had no one to give him this keen, impatient anxiety, this insight into what boys are. “Was there no one but you to insist upon it?” he said, in spite of himself. “Well,” said Lottie meditatively, “do gentlemen--generally--take much trouble about what boys are doing? I suppose they have got other things to think of.” “You have not much opinion of men, Miss Despard,” said the Minor Canon, with a half-laugh. “Oh, indeed I have!” cried Lottie. “Why do you say that? I was not thinking about men--but only---- And then boys themselves, Mr. Ashford; you know what they are. Oh! I think sometimes if I could put some of me into him. But you can’t do that. You may talk, and you may coax, and you may scold, and try every way--but what does it matter? If a boy won’t do anything, what is to be done with him? That is why I wanted so much, so very much, to bring him to you.” “Miss Despard,” said the Minor Canon, “you may trust me that if there is anything I can do for him I will do it. As it happens, I am precisely in want of some one to--to do the same work as another pupil I have. That would be no additional trouble to me, and would not cost anything. Don’t you see? Let him come to me to-morrow and begin.” “Oh, Mr. Ashford,” said Lottie, “I knew by your face you were kind--but how very, very good you are! But then,” she added sorrowfully, “most likely he could not do the same work as your other pupil. I am afraid he is very backward. If I were to tell you what he is doing you might know. He is reading Virgil--a book about as big as himself,” she said, with a little laugh, that was very near crying. “Won’t you sit down here?”