At the house they were met by Christina Shine, and Dick blushed furiously
under her gaze of mild surprise. Christina had been a member of the
Summers household for over five years, ever since the death of her
mother, and had won herself a position there, something like that of a
beloved poor relation with light duties and many liberties.

'Dickie, Dickie, what have you been doing this time?' asked Miss Chris.

'Robbin' my fruit-trees, my dear. What might we do with him, d'ye think?'

Miss Chris thought for a minute with one finger pressed on her lip.

'We might let him go,' she said, with the air of one making rather a
clever suggestion.

'Na, na, na; we canna permit such crimes to go unpunished.'

'Poor boy, perhaps he's very fond of cherries,' said Chris in
extenuation.

Summers regarded the young woman dryly for a moment.

'Eh, eh, girl,' he said, 'ye'd begin to pity the very De'il himself if ye
thought maybe he'd burnt his finger.'

Dick was greatly comforted. As a general thing he writhed under sympathy,
but, strangely enough, he found it very sweet to hear her speaking words
of pity on his behalf, and to feel her soft eyes bent upon him with
gentle concern. Probably no young woman quite understands the deep