Guy had never heard the riddle, but he caught the pun instantly, and
the clear merry sound of his hearty laugh surprised Charles, who
instantly noted it as another proof that was some life in him.

Indeed, each day began to make it evident that he had, on the whole,
rather a superabundance of animation than otherwise. He was quite
confidential with Mrs. Edmonstone, on whom he used to lavish, with
boyish eagerness, all that interested him, carrying her the passages in
books that pleased him, telling her about Redclyffe's affairs, and
giving her his letters from Markham, the steward. His head was full of
his horse, Deloraine, which was coming to him under the charge of a
groom, and the consultations were endless about the means of transport,
Mr. Edmonstone almost as eager about it as he was himself.

He did not so quickly become at home with the younger portion of the
family, but his spirits rose every day. He whistled as he walked in
the garden, and Bustle, instead of pacing soberly behind him, now
capered, nibbled his pockets, and drew him into games of play which
Charles and Amabel were charmed to overlook from the dressing-room
window. There was Guy leaping, bounding, racing, rolling the dog over,
tripping him up, twitching his ears, tickling his feet, catching at his
tail, laughing at Bustle's springs, contortions, and harmless open-
mouthed attacks, while the dog did little less than laugh too, with his
intelligent amber eyes, and black and red mouth. Charles began to find
a new interest in his listless life in the attempt to draw Guy out, and
make him give one of his merry laughs. In this, however, he failed
when his wit consisted in allusions to the novels of the day, of which
Guy knew nothing. One morning he underwent a regular examination,
ending in--