“There was no spell,” said Nello. “And it was to-day. I readed in my book, and so did Lily; but as she is a girl it was different from mine. Girls are not clever, Martuccia says. She can’t make the stones skim. That was a good one when you said ‘Bravo!’ Where did you find out to say Bravo? They don’t talk like that here.” “It was a very good one,” said the Squire; “suppose we were to try again.” “Oh! can _you_ do it?” said Nello, with round eyes of wonder. “Can you do it as well as me?” “When I was a child,” said the Squire, quite overcome, “I had a little brother just like you. We used to come out here, to this very place, and play ducks and drakes. He would make them go half across the water. You should have seen them skimming. As far out as that boat. Do you see that boat----” “When he was no bigger than me? And what did you do? were you little too? did you play against him? did he beat you? I wish I had a brother,” said Nello. “But you can’t have quite forgotten, though you are an old gentleman. Try now! There are capital stones here. I wish I could send one out as far as that boat. Come, come! Won’t you come and try?” The Squire gave another searching look round. He had a sort of shame-faced smile on his face. He was a little shy of himself in this new development. But there was no one near, not so much as a squirrel or a rabbit, which could watch and tell. The birds were singing high up in the tree-tops, quite absorbed in their own business; nothing was taking any notice. And the child had come close to him, quite confiding and fearless, with eager little eyes, waiting for his decision. He was the very image of that little brother so long lost. The Squire seemed to lose himself for a moment in a vague haze of personal uncertainty whether all this harsh, hard life had not been a delusion, and whether he himself still was not a child. “Come and try,” cried Nello, more and more emboldened, and catching at his coat. When the old man felt the touch, it was all he could do to suppress a cry. It was strange to him beyond measure, a touch not like any other--his own flesh and blood.