74, Turnaside Cottage.

 

means enough for his own support, now that there
was no one else to provide for. The people of
Rhydewm looked shyly, I fancy, at the new-comer,
who was himself shy ; so he made few acquaintances,
and devoted his whole time to his books and
writings ; for he wrote and published essays and
treatises, and occasionally poems. Very proud was
I when I saw on his table a paper or magazine in
which there was an article by himself. I could
not always understand, but I could always admire
it, and on those days I walked home very upright
indeed, feeling that not even Mr. Prickard was
equal to my master. I discovered from the
poems that my master loved birds, and bees,
and flowers, though he saw but little of such things
now; and when spring came again, I used to
bring him bunches of wild flowers, which I arranged
inatumbler on his table. Then he would smile,
and call me by his pet name for me—Ruby.
“He is but a pale ruby,” he would say, “ yet I would
not exchange him for all their ruddy gems.” Then
my heart glowed with a love which I could not
express, and which I generally gave vent to by
learning some tremendous irregular verb, or tough
bit of grammar, to repeat to him the next time I
came.

I forget whether it was this year or the year after