and she eleven, a thin, tallish girl with black eyes and the queerest
ways. She was for ever staring out in front of her with her lips
parted, as if she saw something wonderful; but when I came behind her
and looked the same way, I could see nothing but the sheep's trough or
the midden, or father's breeches hanging on a clothes-line. And then if
she saw a lump of heather or bracken, or any common stuff of that sort,
she would mope over it, as if it had struck her sick, and cry,
"How sweet! how perfect!" just as though it had been a painted picture.
She didn't like games, but I used to make her play "tig" and such like;
but it was no fun, for I could always catch her in three jumps, and she
could never catch me, though she would come with as much rustle and
flutter as ten boys would make. When I used to tell her that she was
good for nothing, and that her father was a fool to bring her up like
that, she would begin to cry, and say that I was a rude boy, and that
she would go home that very night, and never forgive me as long as she
lived. But in five minutes she had forgot all about it. What was
strange was that she liked me a deal better than I did her, and she
would never leave me alone; but she was always watching me and running
after me, and then saying, "Oh, here you are!" as if it were a surprise.

But soon I found that there was good in her too. She used sometimes to
give me pennies, so that once I had four in my pocket all at the same
time; but the best part of her was the stories that she could tell.
She was sore frightened of frogs, so I would bring one to her, and tell
her that I would put it down her neck unless she told a story.
That always helped her to begin; but when once she was started it was
wonderful how she would carry on. And the things that had happened to
her, they were enough to take your breath away. There was a Barbary
rover that had been at Eyemouth, and he was coming back in five years in
a ship full of gold to make her his wife; and then there was a