"What a little princess it is," he said admiringly, "and what a time she
will give herself some day!" Then he added, smiling sadly: "Was I rude,
Gwen? Then I am sorry." Her rage was gone, and she looked as if she
could have held him by the feet. As it was, too proud to show her
feelings, she just looked at him with softening eyes, and then sat down
to the work she had refused. This was after the advent of The Pilot at
Swan Creek, and, as The Duke rode home with me that night, after long
musing he said with hesitation: "She ought to have some religion, poor
child; she will grow up a perfect little devil. The Pilot might be of
service if you could bring him up. Women need that sort of thing; it
refines, you know."

"Would she have him?" I asked.

"Question," he replied, doubtfully. "You might suggest it."

Which I did, introducing somewhat clumsily, I fear, The Duke's name.

"The Duke says he is to make me good!" she cried. "I won't have him, I
hate him and you too!" And for that day she disdained all lessons, and
when The Duke next appeared she greeted him with the exclamation, "I
won't have your old Pilot, and I don't want to be good, and--and--you
think he's no good yourself," at which the Duke opened his eyes.

"How do you know? I never said so!"

"You laughed at him to dad one day."

"Did I?" said The Duke, gravely. "Then I hasten to assure, you that I
have changed my mind. He is a good, brave man."