him. It is right to establish a good understanding at the beginning.’

I approached, and, attempting to take his chubby fist, said - ‘How do you do, my dear?’

He replied in a jargon I did not comprehend.

‘Shall you and I be friends, Hareton?’ was my next essay at conversation.

An oath, and a threat to set Throttler on me if I did not ‘frame off’ rewarded my perseverance.

‘Hey, Throttler, lad!’ whispered the little wretch, rousing a half- bred bull-dog from its lair in a corner. ‘Now, wilt thou be ganging?’ he asked authoritatively.

Love for my life urged a compliance; I stepped over the