“I know that’s sensible, Uncle Teddy, and I’ll try.  Let me tell you the sacredest of secrets,—­regularly every day of my life I send her a little poem fastened round the prettiest bouquet I can get at Hanft’s.”

“Does she know who sends them?’”

“She can’t have any idea.  The German boy that takes them knows not a word of English except her name and address.  You’ll forgive me, uncle, for not mentioning her name yet?  You see she may despise or hate me some day when she knows who it is that has paid her these attentions; and then I’d like to be able to feel that at least I’ve never hurt her by any absurd connection with myself.”

“Forgive you?  Nonsense!  The feeling does your heart infinite credit, though a little counsel with your head would show you that your only absurdity is self-depreciation.”

Daniel bid me good-night.  As I put out my cigar and went to bed, my mind reverted to the dauntless little Hotspur who had spent the afternoon with me and reversed his mother’s wish, thinking,—­

“Oh, if Daniel were more like Billy!”

It was always Billy’s habit to come and sit with me while I smoked my after-breakfast cigar, but the next morning did not see him enter my room till St. George’s hands pointed to a quarter of nine.

“Well, Billy Boy Blue, come blow your horn; what haystack have you been under till this time of day?  We sha’n’t have a minute to look over our spelling together, and I know a boy who’s going in for promotion next week.  Have you had your breakfast, and taken care of Crab?”

“Yes, sir; but I didn’t feel like getting up this morning.”

“Are you sick?”

“No-o-o—­it isn’t that; but you’ll laugh at me if I tell you.”

“Indeed I won’t, Billy!”

“Well,”—­his voice dropped to a whisper, and he stole close to my side,—­“I had such a nice dream about her just the last thing before the bell rang; and when I woke up I felt so queer,—­so kinder good and kinder bad,—­and I wanted to see her so much, that if I hadn’t been a big boy I believe I should have blubbered.  I tried ever so much to go to sleep and see her again; but the more I tried the more I couldn’t.  After all, I had to get up without it, though I didn’t want any breakfast, and only ate two buckwheat cakes, when I always eat six, you know, Uncle Teddy.  Can you keep a secret?”

“Yes, dear, so you couldn’t get it out of me if you were to shake me upside-down like a savings-bank.”

“Oh, ain’t you mean!  That was when I was small I did that.  I’ll tell you the secret, though,—­that girl and I are going to get married.  I mean to ask her the first chance I get.  Oh, isn’t she a smasher!”

“My dear Billy, sha’n’t you wait a little while to see if you always like her as well as you do now?  Then, too, you’ll be older.”

“I’m old enough, Uncle Teddy, and I love her dearly!  I’m as old as the kings of France used to be when they got married,—­I read it in Abbott’s histories.  But there’s the clock striking nine!  I must run or I shall get a tardy mark, and, perhaps, she’ll want to see my certificate sometimes.”