classes as very little higher than the brutes; if in her heart she acknowledged that all in the human shape were human, that was about the utmost extent of her liberalism.  She and they were both clay, to be sure, but she was of the finest porcelain clay and they of the coarsest potter’s earth.  This theory had not been taught her, it was born in her, and so entirely natural and sincere that she was almost unconscious of its existence; certainly unsuspicious of its fallacy.

Thus, you see, she caressed Ishmael just exactly as she would have caressed her own Newfoundland dog; she defended his truth and honesty from false accusation just as she would have defended Fido’s from a similar charge; she praised his fidelity and courage just as she would have praised Fido’s; for, in very truth, she rated the peasant boy not one whit higher than the dog!  Had she been a degree less proud, had she looked upon Ishmael as a human being with like passions and emotions as her own, she might have been more reserved in her manner.  But being as proud as she was, she caressed and protected the noble peasant boy as a kind-hearted little lady would have caressed and protected a noble specimen of the canine race!  Therefore, what might have been considered very forward and lowering in another little lady, was perfectly graceful and dignified in Miss Merlin.

But, meanwhile, the poor, earnest, enthusiastic boy!  He didn’t know that she rated him as low as any four-footed pet!  He thought she appreciated him, very highly, too highly, as a human being!  And his great little heart burned and glowed with joy and gratitude!  And he would no more have taken pay for doing her uncle a service than he would have picked a pocket or robbed a henroost!  He just adored her lovely clemency, and he was even turning over in his mind the problem how he, a poor, poor boy, hardly able to afford himself a halfpenny candle to read by, after dark, could repay her kindness—­what could he find, invent, or achieve to please her!

Of all this Miss Claudia only understood his gratitude; and it pleased her as the gratitude of Fido might have done.

And she left his side for a moment, and raised herself on tiptoe and whispered to her uncle: 

“Uncle, he is a noble fellow—­isn’t he, now?  But he loves me better than he does you.  So let me give him something.”

Mr. Middleton placed the five dollar piece in her hand.

“No, no, no—­not that!  Don’t you see it hurts his feelings to offer him that?”

“Well—­but what then?”

“I’ll tell you:  When we drove up to Hamlin’s I saw him standing before the shop, with his hands in his pockets, staring at the books in the windows, just as I have seen hungry children stare at the tarts and cakes in a pastry cook’s.  And I know he is hungry for a book!  Now uncle, let me give him a book.”

“Yes; but had not I better give it to him, Claudia?”

“Oh, if you like, and he’ll take it from you!  But, you know, there’s Fido now, who sometimes gets contrary, and won’t take anything from your hand, but no matter how contrary he is, will always take anything from mine.  But you may try, uncle—­you may try!”