"That's right, George. I would rather you should not have a situation at
all, than get mixed up with bad companions. But go on, I am so anxious
to hear what Mr. Compton said."

"Well, after half-an-hour, I heard a door in the next room close, and a
table-bell touched, and then the old gentleman, who had by this time
returned, went in Presently he came out again, and said Mr. Compton
would see me. Oh, mother! I felt so funny, you don't know. My mouth got
quite dry, my face flushed, and I couldn't think whatever I should say,
I felt just as I did that day at the school examination, when I had to
make one of the prize speeches. But I got all to rights directly I saw
Mr. Compton. He said, 'Good morning to you--be seated,' in such a nice
way, that I felt at home with him at once."

"And what did you say to him, George?"

"I had learnt by heart what I was going to say, but in the hurry I had
forgotten every word. So I said, 'My name is--' (it's a wonder I did not
say Norval, for I felt a bit bewildered at the sound of my own voice)
'--my name is George Weston, sir, and I have brought you a letter from
my uncle, Mr. Henry Brunton, who knows you, I think.' 'Oh! yes," he
said, 'he knows me very well; and, if I mistake not, this letter is
about you, for he was talking to me about a nephew the other day.' Isn't
that just like Uncle Henry?--he never said anything about that to us,
but he is so good and kind, we are always finding out some of his
generous actions, about which he never speaks. While Mr. Compton was
reading the letter, I had leisure to look at him, and at his room. He is
such a fine-looking old man, just like that picture we saw in the
Academy, last year, of the village squire. He looks as if he were very
benevolent and kind-hearted, and he dresses just like some of the