“O, Fan, how can you be so irreverent?”
I heard the faint tinkle of a bell; so I ran up stairs. Mrs. Whitcomb asked me to sit there while she went out for a walk. I took up some crocheting, and, as I worked, watched the wind blowing about the high tree-tops, and making picturesque backgrounds of the blue sky. Then a wood robin came and sang his sweet song almost in my ear.
The sick youth stirred and opened his eyes wide. How strange and sunken they looked!
“Where am I?”
I started at the question, and collected my wandering senses.
“At the rectory. At Mr. Endicott’s.”
“O! Have I been sick? How long since—I can’t seem to remember—”
“It is almost a fortnight since you were taken ill. But you are out of all danger, and have only to get well.”
“I suppose I have been a great deal of trouble. Did I talk much?” And he glanced sharply at me.
“No; that is, it was not of much account.”