George’s answer was a half-suppressed sigh.
“You look glumpish,” said the old gentleman, fixing the eye which did not squint on the boy. “You don’t wish to go with me, eh?”—the cracked voice had impatience in its tone.
“I wish to do—whatever is best for my parents.”
“But you don’t like going, eh?” said Mr. Hardcastle, resting his bony hands on his knees, and leaning forward with a look of peevish irritability.
“I cannot like—leaving my home for another,” answered George gravely; “but I am ready to do it—I do not complain.”
Mr. Hardcastle continued his sharp scrutiny of the boy’s countenance, as if he would read him through and through. There was a painful moment of silence—it was broken by little Eddy.
“You shan’t take away George,” said he, going close to the old man, and looking earnestly up into his face.
“I shan’t! shall I not? and why not, my little man?” said Mr. Hardcastle, lifting the child on his knee.
“Because—because—Georgie must not be sent far away like the compass, but stay here at home like the needle.”
“Like what?” exclaimed Mr. Hardcastle, laughing.