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- Джордж Макдональд
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“
No
.
He
’
s
my
master
.
”
“
What
do
you
do
for
him
?
”
I
asked
respectfully
.
“
Anything
he
wishes
me
to
do
,
”
he
answered
.
“
I
am
busy
for
him
now
.
He
gave
me
this
story
to
read
.
He
wants
my
opinion
upon
it
.
”
“
Don
’
t
you
find
it
rather
hard
to
make
up
your
mind
?
”
“
Oh
dear
no
!
Any
story
always
tells
me
itself
what
I
’
m
to
think
about
it
.
Mr
.
Raymond
doesn
’
t
want
me
to
say
whether
it
is
a
clever
story
or
not
,
but
whether
I
like
it
,
and
why
I
like
it
.
I
never
can
tell
what
they
call
clever
from
what
they
call
silly
,
but
I
always
know
whether
I
like
a
story
or
not
.
”
“
And
can
you
always
tell
why
you
like
it
or
not
?
”
“
No
.
Very
often
I
can
’
t
at
all
.
Sometimes
I
can
.
I
always
know
,
but
I
can
’
t
always
tell
why
.
Mr
.
Raymond
writes
the
stories
,
and
then
tries
them
on
me
.
Mother
does
the
same
when
she
makes
jam
.
She
’
s
made
such
a
lot
of
jam
since
we
came
here
!
And
she
always
makes
me
taste
it
to
see
if
it
’
ll
do
.
Mother
knows
by
the
face
I
make
whether
it
will
or
not
.
”
At
this
moment
I
caught
sight
of
two
more
children
approaching
.
One
was
a
handsome
girl
,
the
other
a
pale
-
faced
,
awkward
-
looking
boy
,
who
limped
much
on
one
leg
.
I
withdrew
a
little
,
to
see
what
would
follow
,
for
they
seemed
in
some
consternation
.
After
a
few
hurried
words
,
they
went
off
together
,
and
I
pursued
my
way
to
the
house
,
where
I
was
as
kindly
received
by
Mr
.
and
Mrs
.
Raymond
as
I
could
have
desired
.
From
them
I
learned
something
of
Diamond
,
and
was
in
consequence
the
more
glad
to
find
him
,
when
I
returned
,
seated
in
the
same
place
as
before
.
“
What
did
the
boy
and
girl
want
with
you
,
Diamond
?
”
I
asked
.
