And now life contained new pleasure for Nellie, for the boy was large-hearted and kind, coming almost daily to take her with him on his excursions.  Indeed, he was as lonely as the child, companions being difficult to find in that out-of-the-way neighborhood, and the odd little thing amused him.  She would trudge bravely by his side when he went to fish, or carry his bag when he went gunning; and his promise of flowers was redeemed with gifts from the conservatory, which enhanced her opinion of this divinity, seeing that they were even more beautiful than those of her own fields.  Often, when tired of sport, Danby would read to her, sitting in the shade of forest trees, stories of pirates and robbers or of wonderful adventures:  these were the afternoons she enjoyed the most.

One day, seeing her lips grow bright and her eyes dark from her intense interest in the story, he offered her the book as he was preparing to go, saying, “Take it home, Nellie, and read it.”

She took the volume in her hand eagerly, looked at the page a little while, a puzzled expression gradually passing over her face, until finally she turned to him open-eyed and disappointed, saying simply, “I can’t.”

“Oh try!”

“How shall I try?”

“It begins there:  now go on, it is easy. There” he repeated, pointing to the word, “go on,” he added impatiently.

“Where shall I go?”

“Why read, Stupid!  Look at it.”

She bent over and gazed earnestly where the end of his finger touched the book.  “I look and look,” she said, shaking her head, “but I do not see the pretty stories that you do.  They seem quite gone away, and nothing is left but little crooked marks.”

“I do believe you can’t read.”

“I do believe it too,” said Nellie.

“But you must try; such a big girl as you are getting to be!”

“I try and I look, but it don’t come to me.”

“You must learn.”

“Yes.”

“Do you intend to do it?”

“Why should I?  You can read to me.”

“You will never know anything,” exclaimed the boy severely.  “How do you spend your time in the morning, when I am not here?”

“I do nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“That is, I wait until you come,” in an explanatory tone.

“What do you do while you are waiting?”

“I think about you, and wonder how soon you will be here; and I walk about, or lie on the grass and look at the clouds.”

“Well, did I ever hear of such an idle girl?  I shall not come again if you don’t learn to read.”  Nellie was not much given to laughter or tears.  She had lived too much alone for such outward appeals for sympathy.  Why laugh when there is no one near to smile in return?  Why weep when there is no one to give comfort?  She only regarded him with a world of reproach in her large eyes.

“Nellie,” he said, in reply to her eyes, “you ought to learn to read, and you must.  Did no one ever try to teach you?”