"No great, I guess."

"Celia and her mother were here. They stayed all the afternoon."

"Celia Howard? Did she wonder where I was?"

"I don't know. She didn't say anything about it. What a dear little
thing she is!"

"And she can say pretty cutting things."

"Oh, can she? Perhaps you'd better run down to the village before dark
and take her these flowers."

"I'm not going. I'd rather you should have the flowers." And Phil spoke
the truth this time.

Celia, who was altogether too young to occupy seriously the mind of a lad
of twelve, had nevertheless gained an ascendancy over him because of her
willful, perverse, and sometimes scornful ways, and because she was
different from the other girls of the school. She had read many more
books than Phil, for she had access to a library, and she could tell him
much of a world that he only heard of through books and newspapers, which
latter he had no habit of reading. He liked, therefore, to be with
Celia, not withstanding her little airs of superiority, and if she
patronized him, as she certainly did, probably the simple-minded young
gentleman, who was unconsciously bred in the belief that he and his own
kin had no superiors anywhere, never noticed it. To be sure they
quarreled a good deal, but truth to say Phil was never more fascinated