Philip

Philip had led always the solitary life of an only child, and his loneliness at the vicarage was no greater than it had been when his mother lived.

On the second Sunday after Philip arrived an unlucky incident occurred.

Philip was seated on the table with all his bricks around him.

"What are you doing with those bricks, Philip? You know you're not allowed to play games on Sunday."

Philip stared at him for a moment with frightened eyes, and, as his habit was, flushed deeply.

Philip did not know it was wicked; but if it was, he did not wish it to be supposed that his mother had consented to it.

"Here is a new companion for you to shake hands with, Tulliver," said that gentleman on entering the study,--"Master Philip Wakem.

Tom looked confused and awkward, while Philip rose and glanced at him timidly.

Philip was at once too proud and too timid to walk toward Tom.

Tom began to look oftener and longer at Philip's face, for he could see it without noticing the hump, and it was really not a disagreeable face,--very old-looking, Tom thought.

"Oh, you can do them without learning," said Philip; "I never learned drawing."

But I dare say I could do dogs and horses if I was to try more," he added, reflecting that Philip might falsely suppose that he was going to "knock under," if he were too frank about the imperfection of his accomplishments.