“And how is Master David?” he says, kindly.

I cannot tell him very well. I give him my hand, which he holds in his.

“Dear me!” says Mr. Chillip, meekly smiling, with something shining in his eye. “Our little friends grow up around us. They grow out of our knowledge, ma’am?” This is to Miss Murdstone, who makes no reply.

“There is a great improvement here, ma’am?” says Mr. Chillip.

Miss Murdstone merely answers with a frown and a formal bend: Mr. Chillip, discomfited, goes into a corner, keeping me with him, and opens his mouth no more.