"And if you dreamed how a friend's smile
And nearness soothe a heart that's sore,
You might be moved to stay awhile
Before my door."



"About?" begins the professor, and stammers, and ceases.

"Everything," says she, with a little nod. "It is impossible to talk
to Aunt Jane. She doesn't talk, she only argues, and always wrongly.
But you are different. I can see that. Now tell me,"--she leans even
more forward and looks intently at the professor, her pretty brows
wrinkled as if with extreme and troublous thought--"What are the
duties of a guardian?"

"Eh?" says the professor. He moves his glasses up to his forehead
and then pulls them down again. Did ever anxious student ask him
question so difficult of answer as this one--that this small maiden
has propounded?

"You can think it over," says she most graciously. "There is no
hurry, and I am quite aware that one isn't made a guardian _every_
day. Do you think you could make it out whilst I count forty?"

"I think I could make it out more quickly if you didn't count at
all," says the professor, who is growing warm. "The duties of a
guardian--are--er--to--er--to see that one's ward is comfortable
and happy."