the snowy sun-bonnet along the winding green lane which led from the
girls' school to the high road. Sometimes Elsie used to bring one of her
favourite books in her plaited-cord school-bag, and then the trio would
sit in a shady corner, where Geordie's vigilant eye could still keep
watch over his charge, while the little girl introduced her friends to
some of the favourite scenes of her ideal world. Elsie seemed to
understand, though she had never been told it in so many words, all
about Geordie's intense desire for knowledge, and to appreciate his
self-denial in remaining in his present post. And so it happened there
grew up in her mind a tender sympathy for all that he had missed, side
by side with an admiring belief in his character.

How many thoughts and ideas he surely must have, she used to think,
after one of those meetings, when she took her solitary way home, after
parting with Jean, and remembered Geordie's remarks, which seemed to
throw new light on her favourite histories, and to touch with insight
all that was most beautiful and true in them. Often Elsie used to
delight the unvocal brother and sister by singing one of her hymns,
which for days afterwards would echo in some "odd corner" of the lonely
little herd-boy's brain. Sometimes, too, they discussed what they had
been hearing on the previous Sunday at Kirklands; and Elsie always felt
more interested in the lesson after hearing Geordie's gentle, reverent
talk. And to Elsie, who had neither brother nor sister, there was an
infinite charm in Geordie's devotion to his sister Jean, and his
unwearied anxiety for her happiness. She noticed, too, the tender,
chivalrous care with which he ministered to his old grandmother, never
wearying of her selfish, querulous ways, and sacrificing himself to her
smallest wishes.

So it happened that a warm friendship sprang up between those three who