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Chapter 24

           

           ‘Yes,’saidtheoldschoolmaster,observingthatherattentionwascaughtbytheselatterspecimens.‘That’sbeautifulwriting,mydear.’

           ‘Very,Sir,’repliedthechildmodestly,‘isityours?’

           ‘Mine!’hereturned,takingouthisspectaclesandputtingthemon,tohaveabetterviewofthetriumphssodeartohisheart.‘Icouldn’twritelikethat,now-a-days.No.They’realldonebyonehand;alittlehanditis,notsooldasyours,butaverycleverone.’

           Astheschoolmastersaidthis,hesawthatasmallblotofinkhadbeenthrownononeofthecopies,sohetookapenknifefromhispocket,andgoinguptothewall,carefullyscrapeditout.Whenhehadfinished,hewalkedslowlybackwardfromthewriting,admiringitasonemightcontemplateabeautifulpicture,butwithsomethingofsadnessinhisvoiceandmannerwhichquitetouchedthechild,thoughshewasunacquaintedwithitscause.

           ‘Alittlehandindeed,’saidthepoorschoolmaster.‘Farbeyondallhiscompanions,inhislearningandhissportstoo,howdidheevercometobesofondofme!ThatIshouldlovehimisnowonder,butthatheshouldlovemeandtheretheschoolmasterstopped,andtookoffhisspectaclestowipethem,asthoughtheyhadgrowndim.

           ‘Ihopethereisnothingthematter,sir,’saidNellanxiously.

           ‘Notmuch,mydear,’returnedtheschoolmaster.‘Ihopedtohaveseenhimonthegreento-night.Hewasalwaysforemostamongthem.Buthe’llbethereto-morrow.’

           ‘Hashebeenill?’askedthechild,withachild’squicksympathy.

           ‘Notvery.

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