"But I say you must. Don't you know that I am Miss Ludolph?"
"I don't care what you do to me," said the little fellow, beginning to cry, "I won't tell."
"Why won't you tell, my boy?" said Christine, cunningly, in a wheedling tone of voice.
Before he knew it, the frightened, bewildered boy fell into the trap, and he sobbed, "Because Mr. Fleet told me not to, and I wouldn't disobey him to save my life."
A look of surprise, and then a broad smile, stole over the young girl's face—at the gift, the messenger, and at him who sent it. It was indeed a fresh and unexpected little episode, breaking the monotony of the day—as fresh and pleasing to her as one of the luscious berries so grateful to her parched mouth.
"You need not tell me," she said, soothingly, "if Mr. Fleet told you not to."
The boy saw the smile, and in a moment realized that he had been tricked out of the forbidden knowledge.
His little face glowed with honest indignation, and looking straight at Miss Ludolph, with his great eyes flashing through the tears, he said, "You stole that from me."
Even she colored a little and bit her lip under the merited charge. But all this made him all the more interesting as an art study, and she was now sketching away rapidly. She coolly replied, however, "You don't know the world very well yet, my little man."
The boy said nothing, but stood regarding her with his unnaturally large eyes filled with anger, reproach, and wonder.