opportunity--and they were rare--I managed to send John a little
note, written carefully in printed letters, for I knew he could read
that; also a book or two, out of which he might teach himself a
little more.

Then I waited, eagerly but patiently, until spring came, when,
without making any more fruitless efforts, I should be sure to see
him. I knew enough of himself, and was too jealous over his dignity,
to wish either to force him by entreaties, or bring him by stratagem,
into a house where he was not welcome, even though it were the house
of my own father.

One February day, when the frost had at last broken up, and soft,
plentiful rain had half melted the great snow-drifts, which, Jael
told me, lay about the country everywhere, I thought I would just put
my head out of doors, to see how long the blessed spring would be in
coming. So I crawled down into the parlour, and out of the parlour
into the garden; Jael scolding, my father roughly encouraging. My
poor father! he always had the belief that people need not be ill
unless they chose, and that I could do a great deal if I would.

I felt very strong to-day. It was delicious to see again the green
grass, which had been hidden for weeks; delicious to walk up and down
in the sunshine, under the shelter of the yew hedge. I amused myself
by watching a pale line of snowdrops which had come up one by one,
like prisoners of war to their execution.

But the next minute I felt ashamed of the heartless simile, for it
reminded me of poor Bill Watkins, who, taken after the battle of
Mentz, last December, had been shot by the French as a spy. Poor,