The boy, with a return of that former reluctance or struggle or whatever it was, seemed to debate with himself. At length he said, raising his eyes to the master’s face:

“I wish you’d come with me and see her, Mr. Headstone, though she is not settled. I wish you’d come with me, and take her in the rough, and judge her for yourself.”

“You are sure you would not like,” asked the schoolmaster, “to prepare her?”

“My sister Lizzie,” said the boy, proudly, “wants no preparing, Mr. Headstone. What she is, she is, and shows herself to be. There’s no pretending about my sister.”