had time, would take my plate, and go quite slowly to the sideboard
with it, leisurely remove the knife and fork, watching meanwhile in
the mirror if Mary was about to take the dish away; if not he would
take something outside, or bring a decanter, and ask if I wanted
wine.

I was, however, pleased to find him no more awkward, as I feared he
would have been, and when, having swept the grate and placed my
solitary wineglass and dessert-plate on the table, he retired, softly
closing the door after him, I felt I should make something of J.
Cole, and hoped his character would be good.




CHAPTER II.


The next morning a tastefully arranged vase of flowers in the centre
of the breakfast-table, and one magnificent rose and bud by my plate,
were silent but eloquent appeals to my interest on behalf of my
would-be page; and when Joe himself appeared, fresh from an hour's
self-imposed work in my garden, I saw he had become quite one of the
family; for Bogie, my little terrier, usually very snappish to
strangers, and who considered all boys as his natural enemies, was
leaping about his feet, evidently asking for more games, and our old
magpie was perched familiarly on his shoulder.

"Good-morning, Joe," I said. "You are an early riser, I can see, by
the work you have already done in the garden."