COUSIN PHILLIS. 39
is in Italy, I believe; and he had to talk to all the workmen in Italian; and I have heard him say that for nearly two years he had only Italian books to read in the queer outlandish places he was in."
"Oh, dear!" said Phillis; "I wish-" and then she stopped. I was not quite sure whether to say the next thing that came into my mind; but I said it.
"Could I ask him anything about your book, or your difficulties?"
She was silent for a minute or so, and then she made reply—
"No! I think not. Thank you very much, though. I can generally puzzle a thing out in time. And then, perhaps, I remember it better than if some one had helped me. I'll put it away now, and you must move off, for I've got to make the paste for the pies; we always have a cold dinner on Sabbaths."
"But I may stay and help you, mayn't I?"
"Oh, yes; not that you can help at all, but I like to have you with me."
I was both flattered and annoyed at this straight-forward avowal. I was pleased that she liked me; but I was young coxcomb enough to have wished to play the lover, and I was quite wise enough to perceive that if she had any idea of the kind in her head she would never have spoken out so frankly. I comforted myself immediately, however, by finding out that the grapes were sour. A great tall girl in a pinafore, half a head taller than I was, reading books that I had never heard of, and talking about them too, as of far more interest than any mere personal subjects; that was the last day on which I ever thought of my dear cousin Phillis as
