“There seems to be the deuce-and-all in the hollow down by the flare,” said the boy, glancing from her eyes to the brazier, which had a grisly skeleton look on its long thin legs.

“There are you, Charley, working your way, in secret from father, at the school; and you get prizes; and you go on better and better; and you come to be a⁠—what was it you called it when you told me about that?”

“Ha, ha! Fortune-telling not know the name!” cried the boy, seeming to be rather relieved by this default on the part of the hollow down by the flare. “Pupil-teacher.”

“You come to be a pupil-teacher, and you still go on better and better, and you rise to be a master full of learning and respect. But the secret has come to father’s knowledge long before, and it has divided you from father, and from me.”

“No it hasn’t!”