He couldn't help wondering if Arthur's sisters
were like her.
Tom held her hand, and looked on straight in her face; he could neither
let it go nor speak.
"Now, Tom," said Arthur, laughing, "where are your manners? You'll stare
my mother out of countenance." Tom dropped the little hand with a sigh.
"There, sit down, both of you.--Here, dearest mother; there's room
here." And he made a place on the sofa for her.--"Tom, you needn't go;
I'm sure you won't be called up at first lesson." Tom felt that he
would risk being floored at every lesson for the rest of his natural
school-life sooner than go, so sat down. "And now," said Arthur, "I have
realized one of the dearest wishes of my life--to see you two together."
And then he led away the talk to their home in Devonshire, and the
red, bright earth, and the deep green combes, and the peat streams like
cairngorm pebbles, and the wild moor with its high, cloudy tors for a
giant background to the picture, till Tom got jealous, and stood up for
the clear chalk streams, and the emerald water meadows and great elms
and willows of the dear old royal county, as he gloried to call it. And
the mother sat on quiet and loving, rejoicing in their life. The quarter
to ten struck, and the bell rang for bed, before they had well begun
their talk, as it seemed.
Then Tom rose with a sigh to go.
"Shall I see you in the morning, Geordie?" said he, as he shook his
friend's hand.
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