The chamber had been brushed and swept, but still the fine dust flew, and caught the sunshine on its eddies like another shade of light. There was no one in the room, and, my first flush over, I felt alone and idle. The table was spread for breakfast, as I discovered, last of all; and I question whether such coffee as stood upon the stove so cosily could be surpassed even in Arabia. It was so perfect that it stood the test of sugarlessness, which I preferred, if possible. Standing to eat and drink in all haste, a speculation stung me,—where was my violin? It had not even slept with me; I had missed it in my room,—that baby of mine, that doll, that ladykin! I looked everywhere,—at least everywhere I could; the closet-door I did not try, justly supposing that it was not my place to do so; and at last I concluded to attack my fellow-pupils.
I found my small friend's door very easily, and turned the key to admit myself. The room, to my amazement, was precisely like my own, even to that bed in the recess; and the inmate was not alarmed, for he evidently expected me.
"Oh!" he said, after putting up his lips to mine, "Marc has your study for this morning; the master gave it him to keep till you were ready. But mind you lock me in again when you get out, or he will flog you and me."
"Did he ever flog you yet?"
"No, and he does not call it 'flog;' but he did tie Marc's hands together one day, and he said it was the same to him to do that as for an English master to flog."
"A very mild type, I think. But who is Marc?"
"Marc Iskar; you saw him last night. He won't speak to me; he says I am too young."
"So much the better for you. And what is your little name?"
"I am Starwood Burney;[14] but I should like you to call me Star, as my papa does."
"That I will, my German aster!"