"How do you know that my hair was not coal-black before it turned gray?" he asks, with a smile. "It may have been the hue of the carrion-crow for all you know."
"I am sure it was not," reply I, stoutly; then, after a little pause, "I do not think that I did get on well with him—not what I call getting on—he seems rather a touchy young gentleman."
"You must not quarrel with him, Nancy," says Sir Roger, laughing. "He lives not a stone's-throw from us."
"So he told me!"
"Poor fellow!" with an accent of compassion. "He has never had much of a chance; he has been his own master almost ever since he was born—a bad thing for any boy—he has no parents, you know."
"So he told me."
"Neither has he any brothers or sisters."
"So he told me!"
"He seems to have told you a great many things."
"Yes," reply I, "but then I asked him a great many questions: our conversation was rather like the catechism: the moment I stopped asking him questions, he began asking me!"