“Magnificent, my little princess, if you can only carry out your ideas,” replied her uncle.

“Oh! but I will!  I will, if it takes every dollar of my income!  My mamma told me that when I grew up I must be the mother of the poor!  And doesn’t a mother feed her children?”

Middleton laughed.

“And as for that poor boy on the hill, he shall have tarts and cheese cakes, and plum pudding, and roast turkey, and new books every day; because I like him; I like him so much; I like him better than I do anything in the world except Fido!”

“Well, my dear,” said Mr. Middleton, seizing this opportunity of administering an admonition, “like him as well as Fido, if you please; but do not pet him quite as freely as you pet Fido.”

“But I will, if I choose to!  Why shouldn’t I?” inquired the young lady, erecting her haughty little head.

“Because he is not a dog!” dryly answered her uncle.

“Oh! but he likes petting just as much as Fido!  He does indeed, uncle; I assure you!  Oh, I noticed that.”

“Nevertheless, Miss Claudia, I must object in future to your making a pet of the poor boy, whether you or he like it or not.”

“But I will, if I choose!” persisted the little princess, throwing back her head and shaking all her ringlets.

Mr. Middleton sighed, shook his head, and turned to his wife, whispering, in a low tone: 

“What are we to do with this self-willed elf?  To carry out her father’s ideas, and let her nature have unrestrained freedom to develop itself, will be the ruin of her!  Unless she is controlled and guided she is just the girl to grow up wild and eccentric, and end in running away with her own footman.”

These words were not intended for Miss Claudia’s ears; but notwithstanding, or rather because of, that, she heard every syllable, and immediately fired up, exclaiming: 

“Who are you talking of marrying a footman?  Me! me! me!  Do you think that I would ever marry anyone beneath me?’ No, indeed!  I will live to be an old maid, before I will marry anybody but a lord! that I am determined upon!”

“You will never reach that consummation of your hopes, my dear, by petting a peasant boy, even though you do look upon him as little better than a dog,” said Mr. Middleton, as he drew up before the gates of Brudenell.

A servant was in attendance to open them.  And as the party were now at home, the conversation ceased for the present.

Claudia ran in to exhibit her purchases.

Her favorite, Fido, ran to meet her, barking with delight.

CHAPTER XXIII.

ISHMAEL’S PROGRESS.

  Athwart his face when blushes pass
    To be so poor and weak,
  He falls into the dewy grass,
    To cool his fevered cheek;
  And hears a music strangely made,
    That you have never heard,
  A sprite in every rustling blade,
    That sings like any bird!