And Ishmael struck into the narrow and half hidden footpath that led from the highway to the hut.
The carriage started on its way.
"A rather remarkable boy, that," said Mr. Middleton, as they drove along the forest road encircling the crest of the hills towards Brudenell Heights, that moonlit, dewy evening; "a rather remarkable boy! He has an uncommonly fine head! I should really like to examine it! The intellect and moral organs seem wonderfully developed! I really should like to examine it carefully at my leisure."
"He has a fine face, if it were not so pale and thin," said Mrs. Middleton.
"Poor, poor fellow," said Claudia, in a tone of deep pity, "he is thin and pale, isn't he? And Fido is so fat and sleek! I'm afraid he doesn't get enough to eat, uncle!"
"Who, Fido?"
"No, the other one, the boy! I say I'm afraid he don't get enough to eat. Do you think he does?"
"I—I'm afraid not, my dear!"
"Then I think it is a shame, uncle! Rich people ought not to let the poor, who depend upon them, starve! Papa says that I am to come into my mamma's fortune as soon as I am eighteen. When I do, nobody in this world shall want. Everybody shall have as much as ever they can eat three times a day. Won't that be nice?"
"Magnificent, my little princess, if you can only carry out your ideas," replied her uncle.