and peeping over his shoulder, saw that he was reading a fairy-book.

"What are you reading?" I said, and spoke suddenly, with the hope
of seeing a startled little face look round at me. Diamond turned
his head as quietly as if he were only obeying his mother's voice,
and the calmness of his face rebuked my unkind desire and made me
ashamed of it.

"I am reading the story of the Little Lady and the Goblin Prince,"
said Diamond.

"I am sorry I don't know the story," I returned. "Who is it by?"

"Mr. Raymond made it."

"Is he your uncle?" I asked at a guess.

"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,