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"I don't agree with you. When you are older you will know that English history written by such men as Macaulay and Froude is most beautiful and thrilling. Now I have news for you."

"You do look strange!" said Christian; "what can be the matter?"

"I have just been down to see your mother."

"Oh, can I see her?" said Christian, a swift change passing over her face. "Can I? May I? I want so badly to ask her a question."

"She is going out; she does not wish to be disturbed."

"Oh, I know all about that."

"You know about it?"

"Yes; but never mind. Tell me what your secret is, Miss Thompson; I can see it is bubbling all over your face."

"Your mother says that you are looking pale, and that you may have a holiday."

Christian smiled. Her smile came gradually: at first it was just a little dimple in her left cheek; then it spread to her lips; then it filled her eyes; then a wave of color mounted to her face, and she burst into a hearty fit of laughter. But when she ceased laughing there were tears in her eyes.