It was settled that there was to be a fête on the 27th, which some of my readers may remember was Louis' birthday; and Sir George, anxious to efface from his grandson's memory any painful reminiscences of the last, arranged the order of things much in the same manner, taking care that Louis' protegés, the school-children, should not be forgotten.
This news had just been communicated to Louis by his grandfather, with many expressions of commendation, and he was in a state of complacent self-gratulation, that feeling which would have led him to say, “By the strength of my hand I have done this;” instead of, “My strength will I ascribe unto the Lord,” when a kind, soft hand, glittering with rings, was laid upon his arm, and the pleasant voice of his old friend Mrs. Paget greeted him.
“So, Master Louis, we are to have a fête, I hear. Are you really fourteen on the 27th? Come and sit down and tell me all about your school. I knew you would soon be a favorite. What's all this long story that everybody talks of and nobody knows? I said I would ask you, the most proper person to know it; and I know you will tell me the secret.”
“It is no secret, ma'am,” said Louis; “I would rather not talk of it.”
“Just like your own modest little self: and it might not be kind to tell every one all the story, perhaps; but with an old friend like me, you know you are safe.”
“But, ma'am, you might forget when every one is talking—”
Louis stopped and colored, for he thought it seemed rather conceited to imagine every one must be talking of him, and he corrected himself,
“At least, dear Mrs. Paget, I had much rather not, I mean.”
“You are a dear, kind little boy,” said the injudicious lady; “I know very well you are afraid of committing that naughty school-fellow of yours. I can't understand about the keys—I heard your brother saying something about them—what keys? Were they the keys of the boy's desks?”
Louis could hardly help laughing—“No, ma'am, Kenrick's keys.”