"But Smalley?"
"He is a good young man," she replied impressively.
"Cornelius is a great deal better," I put in, quickly; "he fought for Mr.
Smalley, who never fought for him."
"Did you ever hear such a conclusion!" exclaimed Miss O'Reilly, laying down the poker; "fighting made the test of excellence! You naughty girl! don't you see Mr. Smalley was a Christian lad, and Cornelius a young heathen?"
"I like the heathens," was my reply, more prompt than orthodox: "they were always brave; Achilles was, and so was Hector," I added, with a shy look at Cornelius, whom I had secretly identified with the Trojan hero.
Hector laughed, and told me to bring the books for the lessons. I remember that I answered him particularly well,—so well, that his sister asked if I was not progressing.
"Very much," he carelessly replied. "Kate, what has become of that 'Go where Glory waits thee'?"
"I really don't know. Child, what are you about?" I was on my knees, hunting through the music, ardent and eager to find the piece he wanted. He allowed me to search, and sat down by his sister.
"Cornelius, here it is," I said, standing before him with the piece of music in my hand.
"Thank you, put it there. Kate, Smalley is smitten with you!"