"Why is he?" Aggie asked, surprised. "If he likes sailing about better
than coming up here, why shouldn't he?"

"I don't think it's for that he stays away, Aggie. In fact, you see,
Jim has only just left school, and he feels he can't laugh, and talk,
and tell you stories about foreign countries, as this young fellow can,
and having been so long accustomed to have you to himself, he naturally
would not like the playing second fiddle to Richard Horton."

"But he hasn't been here much," the girl said, "ever since I came here.
He used to be so nice, and so kind, in the old days when I lived down
there, that I can't make out why he has changed so."

"My dear, I don't think he has changed. He has been only a boy, and the
fact is, he is only a boy still. He is fond of sailing, and of the
amusements boys take to, and he doesn't feel at home, and comfortable
here, as he did with you when you were a little girl at his mother's.
But mind, Aggie, James is true as steel. He is an honourable and
upright young fellow. He is worth fifty of this self-satisfied,
pleasant-spoken young sailor."

"I know James is good and kind, grampa," the girl said earnestly; "but
you see, he is not very amusing, and Richard is very nice."

"Nice! Yes," the old soldier said; "a fair weather sort of niceness,
Aggie. Richard Horton is the squire's nephew, and I don't wish to say
anything against him; but mark my words, and remember them, there's
more goodness in James's little finger, than there is in his whole
body. But there, I am a fool to be talking about it. There is your