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Updated: May 6, 2025
The schoolmaster was wondering whether he knew of any one who was soon going to the city, when Mother Stina turned to the boy: "Who was to have the watch, Ingmar?" she asked. "I don't know as I ought to tell," the boy demurred. "Wasn't it Tims Halvor, who is sitting here?" "Yes," he whispered. "Then give Halvor the watch just as it is," said Mother Stina. "That will please him best."
When she returned she found her friend standing in absorbed contemplation of a book in her hand. "This is Greek, isn't it?" she asked, holding it up. Her face wore a little frown as of strained attention. "Right you are," shrieked Tims in accents of relief. "Greek it is. Can you read it?" "Not yet," replied Milly, flushing with excitement, "but I shall soon, I know I shall.
Miss Burt was glad to hear Milly Flaxman was oversleeping herself. She had not been satisfied with the girl's appearance of late, and feared Milly worked too hard and had bad nights. Tims had to go out at ten o'clock and did not return until luncheon-time. She went up to Milly's room and knocked at the door. As before, there was no answer.
Tims, who had no relations, remained with her. She had for Mildred a sentiment almost like that of a parent, besides an admiration for which she was slightly ashamed, feeling it to be something of a slur on the memory of Milly, her first and kindest friend. Mildred had recovered her memory for most things, but the facts of her former life were still a blank to her.
But you can't expect me not to care a bit about my clothes like you, you really can't." Tims drew herself up. "You're wrong, my girl, I'm a deal fonder of frocks than you are. I always think," she added, looking before her dreamily, "that I was meant to be a very good dresser, only I was brought up too economical."
He moved towards her in an alarmed silence, but before he could reach her and catch her in his arms, her head drooped, she swayed once upon her feet, and fell heavily to the ground. "Now be reasonable Tims. You can be if you choose."
Pocketing the bottle and flourishing the teapot, Tims mounted again to Milly's room. Her patient, who had spent the time wandering about the room and examining everything in it, as well as she could in the fast-falling twilight, resumed her position in the chair as soon as she heard a step in the passage, and greeted her returning keeper with an attractive smile.
"At it again, M.! You know you're simply working yourself stupid." Thus speaking, Miss Timson, known to her intimates at Ascham as "Tims," wagged sagely her very peculiar head. A crimson silk handkerchief was tied around it, turban-wise, and no vestige of hair escaped from beneath. There was in fact none to escape.
His voice unconsciously spoke dismay. Tims looked at him. "No, not exactly," she articulated, slowly; and, after a pause: "Poor old Milly's trying to come back, that's all." She paused again; then: "You look a bit worried, old man." He tossed back his head with a gesture he had kept from the days when the crest of raven-black hair had been wont to grow too long and encroach on his forehead.
Tims yielded. "Stewart said your scholarship was A 1, but he was afraid you wouldn't get your First in Greats. He said you had a lot of difficulty in expressing yourself and didn't seem to get the lead of their philosophy and stuff and and generally wanted cleverness." "He said that?" asked Milly, in a low, sombre voice, speaking as though to herself.
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