“It is not a big bell, but you may pull it,” said Helen, crossing to the fireplace. “There, that will do.”
She led the way back to the chair where she had been seated, and in spite of herself felt amused and pleased at the way in which the boy’s bright curious eyes examined her, for, outside of his school discipline, the little fellow acted like a small savage, and was as full of eager curiosity.
“I say,” he said, “how do you do your hair like that? It is nice.”
Just then Maria entered the room.
“Bring up the cake, Maria, and a knife and plate—and—stop—bring a glass of milk.”
“Yes, miss,” said Maria, staring hard at the boy with anything but favourable eyes.
“I say, do you drink milk?” said the boy.
“Sometimes. This is for you.”
“For me? Oh, I say! But you’ll put some water to it, won’t you!”
“No; you can drink it as it is. No, no! Stop!”