necessary to prevent their state of feud from being observed by Mr Stelling, who would have “put down” such nonsense with great vigor. When Maggie came, however, she could not help looking with growing interest at the new schoolfellow, although he was the son of that wicked Lawyer Wakem, who made her father so angry. She had arrived in the middle of school-hours, and had sat by while Philip went through his lessons with Mr Stelling. Tom, some weeks ago, had sent her word that Philip knew no end of stories,—not stupid stories like hers; and she was convinced now from her own observation that he must be very clever; she hoped he would think _her_ rather clever too, when she came to talk to him. Maggie, moreover, had rather a tenderness for deformed things; she preferred the wry-necked lambs, because it seemed to her that the lambs which were quite strong and well made wouldn’t mind so much about being petted; and she was especially fond of petting objects that would think it very delightful to be petted by her. She loved Tom very dearly, but she often wished that he _cared_ more about her loving him. “I think Philip Wakem seems a nice boy, Tom,” she said, when they went out of the study together into the garden, to pass the interval before dinner. “He couldn’t choose his father, you know; and I’ve read of very bad men who had good sons, as well as good parents who had bad children. And if Philip is good, I think we ought to be the more sorry for him because his father is not a good man. _You_ like him, don’t you?” “Oh, he’s a queer fellow,” said Tom, curtly, “and he’s as sulky as can be with me, because I told him his father was a rogue. And I’d a right to tell him so, for it was true; and _he_ began it, with calling me names. But you stop here by yourself a bit, Maggie, will you? I’ve got something I want to do upstairs.” “Can’t I go too?” said Maggie, who in this first day of meeting again loved Tom’s shadow. “No, it’s something I’ll tell you about by-and-by, not yet,” said Tom, skipping away.