Dick, who had barely glanced up at his stepmother's entrance, and then continued reading, now knit his brow in an angry frown, and seemed unwilling to answer; while Clare, the elder of the two young ladies, laughed carelessly as she said, "Our invasion for that purpose was hardly necessary, I fancy. It is simply the old story over again--badly-prepared lessons."
"You're about right there," replied the boy sullenly, never raising his eyes from the volume before him. "What else could you expect of the dunce?" and a bitter sneer curled the corners of his lips as he spoke, while Winnie's warm little heart was all aglow with love and sympathy.
Mrs. Blake's face assumed an expression of peevish distress. "I am sure, Dick," she began plaintively, "I do not know what the end of all this will be. Your father is perfectly disgusted at your indolence and ashamed of your stupidity." The boy's eyes flashed. "Yes, it is quite true. I am tired listening to his continual complaints;" and the lady drew her fleecy wrap round her with an injured air.
"O mamma," interrupted Winnie eagerly, "you are wronging Dick. He may not be so clever as Algy and Tom, but he is such a dear, good boy, and does try ever so hard to learn his lessons. He does indeed; and I should know best, when I study beside him every night."
"That's enough, Win," answered her brother doggedly. "I don't care what they believe;" and the boy, drawing his chair closer to the fire, gazed angrily into the burning embers.
"What a respectful speech, and what charming manners!" said Edith scornfully. "You would grace any drawing-room, Dick.--Come away, mamma; we shall be late. Papa will soon bring his dutiful son to his proper senses."
"Well spoken, Edith," said Mrs. Blake, sweeping indignantly from the room; "the boy is a perfect boor. I trust he may show more honour to his father than he has accorded to me."
The door closed softly behind the unwelcome guests, the light footsteps died away in the distance, and Winnie and Dick were once more alone in the little oak parlour, with the dancing firelight playing on their faces and roguishly deepening the tint on their youthful cheeks.
Dick's book had dropped from his knees, and was lying with crumpled leaves on the rug, while the boy, his hands tightly clenched, sat in moody silence; and Winnie's tender heart ached as she watched him. Slipping from her chair, she crossed over to his side, and nestling down, laid her pretty head on his arm, saying with a quiver in her voice, "Dick, my dear, good boy, don't look like that; I can't bear it. Oh, why do they say such things to you?" Here the tears forced themselves into the bright eyes as she spoke.