the middle of the river, where the vessel was
moored, and John Chester stepped ashore
with the boy. Climbing up among the osiers,
with which the island was thickly covered,
they descended again, and crossed by a plank
over a brook, filled with watercresses. Thence
they entered the garden of a cottage, near the
door of which sat a man basket-making. The
man shaded his eyes with his hand, and looking
towards them, said—

"Every one forgets me but you, Chester.
It's a dull life I lead here; cut off from
everything cheerful; working all day on the
Ayte, just for a living. But what little boy
is this?"

"My nephew," replied the barge-master.
"Poor fellow, he has had no father or mother
since four years old."

"He's a nice boy," said the man, patting
him on the head, "and I dare say a good boy,
too." Then turning, he called in at the
cottage-door, "Annie, here's a young friend
come to see you—make haste." Some miimtes
elapsed before a little girl made her appearance
at the door, evidently reluctant to
approach strangers.

"Go," said the basket-maker, "and shake
hands with him." But she still held back, till
he boy stepped forward and took her by the
hand, saying—

"Don't be afraid, Annie; I want to be
friends with you."

"What a contrast between those two
children! " said John Chester, as he looked
at them sitting together in the doorway;--
"Will, with his light hair, and she with her
black curls and little pale face."

"Ah, do not speak of that," said the basket-maker.
"They tell me her poor mother was
like her at her age; she is not strong." The
girl looked in his face, as if conscious that he
was speaking of her, although he spoke in a
tone too low to be overheard. " Go, Annie,"
said he, raising his voice, " and show your
little friend our bees; but do not walk too
near." She rose; and the boy still holding
her hand in his, they walked down the garden
together till they came to a row of bee-hives,
almost hidden among the flowers. " So you
will not be friends with me, Annie? " said he,
after watching the bees in silence for a few
minutes.

"Yes, I will; but I do not know you," she
replied, holding down her head.

"By-and-by, then, when I come again, will
you promise to talk to me?"

"Yes."

"How old are you, Annie?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve! I am only ten; but I can read
and write, and I have schoolfellows who are
fourteen, and yet are no bigger than I. And
do you always live in this pretty place in the
water?"

"Always. I like to live here; even before
the leaves are on the trees—though it is very
cold sometimes. Where do you live?"

"A long way from here, Annie. Do you
know Eton?"

"No. I only know Marlow; where I go
to see my sister sometimes. She is a
lace-worker. How did you come here ?"

"In the barge. It is moored just out
yonder; but you can't see it for the trees.
Come with me, and I will show you. This
way."

"No, not that way; we must go round
tp the plank. The brook runs right down to
the river."

"Come along," said the boy, laughing; "I
can leap a place twice as broad as that—see!"
and, letting go her hand, he sprang across.

"Now I must go round," said his companion.

"No, no! here is a narrow part, and a dry
footing at the side. Give me your hand,"
said he, having sunk a large stone in the
stream, and placed his foot upon it, so that he
could reach her. The girl hesitated for a
moment, and descended timidly, till he took
her by the waist and sprang back with her.
"What a frightened girl you are, Annie!
Did you think I could not jump with you?"

"No; but I can't help feeling afraid."

"Bless you! " said her companion, putting
his arms round her neck; "I would not
have done it if I had not been sure that
I should not miss my footing. See, there
is the barge. Stoop and look through the
stems of the trees; and now follow close
behind me, that I may make a way for you
through the branches. There; is not that a
pretty boat?"

"Yes; and do you sleep there?"

"When I go down the river with my uncle.
I have a little bed below, and a cabin, with
table and chairs, like a parlour; come and
see—now—step upon the plank—I have got
you. You are frightened this time?"

"No—not with you—" and with a timid
step she walked along the narrow board, and
entered the barge. "Come and sit at the
helm awhile," said her companion, after he
had shown her the little cabin. The sun was
setting, and as she sat looking at it and the
long line of sunlight on the water, the boy
lay down beside her, looking up into her face
without speaking, till they heard the voice of
his uncle calling to them from the island.
"We have been looking for you," said he,
"and wondering where you were. Come, we
must be gone. Bid good-bye to little Annie
before I take her ashore."

"Good-bye, Annie," said he. " I will come
again to see you, one day." When she was
gone and the vessel was loosened from her
moorings, the boy sat still at the helm, looking
back upon the island, as they floated down the
river in the dusk.

CHAPTER THE SECOND.

Many months elapsed before William
Chester saw again his little friend upon the
island, though he did not forget her. The
prospect of the summer holidays, the escape