"But that was very naughty, Isobel," Miss Virtue said gravely. "You
are only eleven years old, and too young to be a judge of these
matters, and even if it were as you say, it is not for a child to
speak so to her mother."

"I know that, Miss Virtue, but how can I help it? I could cry out
with pain when I see Robert looking from one to the other just for
a kind word, which he never gets. It is no use, Miss Virtue; if it
was not for him I would much rather never go home at all, but stop
here through the holidays, only what would he do if I didn't go
home? I am the only pleasure he has. When I am there he will sit
for hours on my knee, and lay his head on my shoulder, and stroke
my face. It makes me feel as if my heart would break."

"Well, my dear," Miss Virtue said, somewhat puzzled, "it is sad, if
it is as you say, but that does not excuse your being disrespectful
to your mother. It is not for you to judge her."

"But cannot something be done for Robert, Miss Virtue? Surely they
must do something for children like him."

"There are people, my dear, who take a few afflicted children and
give them special training. Children of that kind have sometimes
shown a great deal of unusual talent, and, if so, it is cultivated,
and they are put in a way of earning a livelihood."

"Are there?" Isobel exclaimed, with eager eyes. "Then I know what
I will do, Miss Virtue; I will write off at once to Uncle Tom--
he is our guardian. I know if I were to speak to mamma about Robert
going to school it would be of no use; but if uncle writes I dare