"Tell me about yourself," said Irene suddenly, shipping her oars, bending forward, and fixing her intensely bright eyes on the child.
She did not feel at all like a changeling now. That wild thing in her breast was still. She felt somewhat like a mother, somewhat like an ordinary little girl might feel towards a loved baby-sister, or even towards a doll. This new sense of protection had a marvelous effect upon her. She would not have minded if little Agnes had crept into her arms and laid her head on her breast.
"Tell me what you did before you came here," she said.
"But don't you know?" said Agnes. "Sister Emily has been living with you for a long time. She must have told you about me."
"I am ashamed to say I never asked her anything about you."
"I suppose that is because you are very thoughtful. You were determined--yes, determined--not to give her pain. She is always so sad when she thinks of us; but Hughie and I are not really unhappy. We don't mind things now."
"What do you mean by 'now'? Tell me--do tell me."
"Oh, we are at school. Hughie is at a pretty good school, although it is rather rough. He is learning hard. He is to be apprenticed to a trade some day. Dear sister Emily cannot afford to bring him up as a gentleman; but she is saving every penny of her money to put him into a really good trade. Perhaps he will be a bookbinder, or perhaps a cabinetmaker."
"But people of that sort are not gentry," said Irene. Then she colored and bit her lips.
Little Agnes had seen so much of the rough side of life that she was not at all offended.
"Sister Emily says that she could not afford to bring us up as a lady and gentleman, and so we are to be trained for something else. I think she is going to put me into a shop."
"Indeed she won't," said Irene fiercely, "for I won't let her."
There was a new tone in her voice which frightened little Agnes. She sank back among her soft cushions.
"You mustn't be angry with her, for she is the best sister in all the world. No one else would work so hard to support us. You know, when father and mother died there wasn't a penny-piece to keep us, and we were both very young; and if it hadn't been for Emily I might have been sent to one of those dreadful charity schools. But as it is, I am being taught, and now I am staying at this lovely place for the holidays, and I have met you, and I think you are a sort of angel."