sat side by side in Grace Campbell's little school-room; and their daily
lives had become pleasantly interwoven during these past months. To
Jean, Elsie appeared the embodiment of all that was worthy of imitation,
from her snowy sun-bonnet to her gentle voice, both seeming equally
unattainable to the little girl. When Geordie returned to the village on
Saturday night, he used generally to hear from Jean some glowing
narrative in Elsie's praise, to which Geordie's ears were quite wide
open, though he sat bending over his books in the "ingle neuk" of the
cottage kitchen.

When her idea of a winter at school had to be abandoned, Grace gave him
a few helpful class-books, and tried to direct his efforts to learn as
much as was possible; but, during the past year, her aunt's increasing
weakness and dependence on her companionship made it impossible for
Grace to give the boy such practical help as she would fain have done.
But Geordie had been fighting his own battle manfully, and had made more
progress than Grace guessed.

Walter had first been telling her as they walked on the terrace
together, that the day before he had found Geordie busy with a geography
book as he tended his cattle, and how pleased he had been to hear about
the new lands Walter had seen. Like Elsie, Walter felt that, in
Geordie's mind, things seemed to gather a richness and an interest with
which his own impressions had not clothed them.

"You've no idea how many queer questions the fellow asked me about
everything," continued Walter. "Indeed, Grace, I couldn't help thinking
how much more good Geordie would have got out of all the things and
places I've seen since I went away, than I have. And yet he's much too
clever for a sailor's life. What can we do with him, Grace? I really