They sat one on each side
of the long oak board which served young Musgrave for a study-table and
stood endwise towards the middle lattice. Harry had a new poem before
him, which he was tired of reading. The light and shadow played on both
their faces. There was a likeness for those who could see it--the same
frank courage in their countenances, the same turn for reverie in their
eyes. Harry felt lazy. The heat, the drowsy hum of bees in the
vine-blossoms, and the poetry-book combined, had made him languid. Then
he had bethought him of his comrade. Bessie came gladly, and poured out
in full recital the events that had happened to her of late. To these
she added the projects and anticipations of the future.
"Dear little Bessie! she fancies she is on the eve of adventures.
Terribly monotonous adventures a girl's must be!" said the conceit of
masculine twenty.
"I wish I had been a boy--it must be much better fun," was the whimsical
rejoinder of feminine fifteen.
"And you should have been my chum," said young Musgrave.
"That is just what I should have liked. Caen is nearer to Beechhurst
than it is to Woldshire, so I shall come home for my holidays. Perhaps I
shall never see you again, Harry, when I am transported to Woldshire."
This with a pathetic sigh.
"Never is a long day. I shall find you out; and if I don't, you'll hear
of me. I mean to be heard of, Bessie."
"Oh yes, Harry, I am sure you will.
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