“You will do, Ishmael—­you will do very well indeed!” said Hannah, as she drew the boy to her bosom and kissed him with blended feelings of affection, admiration, and remorse.  Yes, remorse; for Hannah remembered how often, in his feeble infancy, she had wished him dead, and had been impatient for his death.

“I hope you will do yourself credit to-day, Ishmael,” she said, as she released him from her embrace.

“I shall try to do you credit, Aunt Hannah,” replied the smiling youth, as he set off gayly for the fete at the school.

It was a splendid morning, but promised to be a sultry day.

When he reached Brudenell Hall he found the young ladies and gentlemen of the school, about twenty in all, assembled on the front lawn before the house.  The young gentlemen in their holiday suits were sauntering lazily about among the parterres and shrubberies.  The young ladies in their white muslin dresses and pink sashes were grouped under the shade of that grove of flowering locusts that stood near the house—­the same grove that had sheltered some of them on the night of the fire.

As Ishmael came up the flagged walk leading to the house Claudia saw him and called out: 

“Come here, Ishmael, and let us look at you!”

The youth, blushing with the consciousness of his new clothes, and the criticisms they would be sure to provoke from his honored but exasperating little patroness, advanced to the group of white-robed girls.

Claudia, with her glittering black ringlets, her rich crimson bloom, and glorious dark eyes, was brilliantly beautiful, and at fifteen looked quite a young woman, while Ishmael at sixteen seemed still a boy.

Her manner, too, was that of a young lady towards a mere lad.

She took him by the hand, and looked at him from head to foot, and turned him around; and then, with a triumphant smile, appealed to her companions, exclaiming: 

“Look at him now!  Isn’t he really elegant in his new clothes?  Light gray becomes him—­his complexion is so fair and clear!  There isn’t another boy in the neighborhood that wouldn’t look as yellow as a dandelion in gray!  Isn’t he handsome, now?”

This was a very severe ordeal for Ishmael.  The young ladies had all gathered around Claudia, and were examining her favourite.  Ishmael felt his face burn until it seemed as if the very tips of his ears would take fire.

“Isn’t he handsome, now, Bee?” pursued the relentless Claudia, appealing to her cousin.

Beatrice was blushing in intense sympathy with the blushing youth.

“I say, isn’t he handsome, Bee?” persevered the implacable critic, turning him around for her cousin’s closer inspection.

“Yes! he is a very handsome dog!  I wonder you do not get a collar and chain for him, for fear he should run away, or someone should steal him from you, Claudia!” suddenly exclaimed the distressed girl, bursting into indignant tears.