fascination, and he would hang for hours over a certain still, brown pool at the foot of the garden, thinking unutterable things, occasionally making a remark to his dog, but for the most part silent.  Knowing his ways, Hildegarde was the more surprised, on this occasion, to hear the sound of voices in lively conversation.  Whom could the boy have picked up and brought here?  He had no friend of his own age; like herself, he was a lone child; and it was with a little pang, which she almost laughed to feel, that she drew near, and softly parted the branches that hung between her and the pool.  The first step was fatal, she thought, and she was apparently condemned to be a peeper and an eavesdropper for the rest of her days.

Hugh was sitting beside the pool, but not in his favourite Narcissus-like attitude.  His knees were well up in front of him, his hands were clasped over them, and facing him, in precisely the same position, was a boy in blue jean overalls, with a shock of black hair, and bright, dark eyes.

“What kind of fish?” asked the black-eyed boy, with kindling look.

“Little fish with silver tails,” said Hugh, “and shining eyes.  They look at me, and sometimes I think they listen to what I say; but they cannot speak, you know.”

“Ho!  I should think not!” said Black-eyes, scornfully.  “I mean what kind of fish are they, when you catch ’em,—­minnows, or dace, or sticklebacks, or what?  What are their names?”

“I do not know that,” said Hugh.  “I never thought of their names; and I don’t catch them.”

“Why not?  Wouldn’t you be let?  Don’t the people in the house allow fishing?  I thought you said they were nice people!” and my lord showed a face of keen disgust.

“I don’t want to catch them,” said Hugh, quietly.  “Why should I?  They swim about, and I see them shine like silver and purple under the brown water.  Sometimes they have crimson spots, like drops of blood, or ruby stones.  Look! there is one now, a ruby-spotted one!”

“Oh, my crickey!” cried the strange boy, jumping up, and dancing from one foot to the other.  “It’s a trout, you idiot!  Gimme a line! gimme a net, or something!  Gimme—­” He snatched off his cap, and made a frantic effort to catch the trout, which flipped its tail quietly at him, and withdrew under a rock.

The boy sat down, breathless, and stared at Hugh with all his eyes.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, at length “What kind of a fellow are you, anyhow?  Are you loony?”

Hugh pondered, the question being new to him.

“I—­don’t—­know!” he announced, after sufficient thought.

There was a moment of silence, and black eyes and blue exchanged an ardent gaze.  Hugh’s eyes were bright, with the brightness of a blue lake, where the sunbeams strike deep into it, and transfuse the clear water with light; but the eyes of the strange boy twinkled and snapped, as when sunshine sparkles from ripple to ripple.  He was the first to break the silence.