Hal looked up anxiously; and the soft brown eyes, in their wistfulness, touched the doctor's heart.
"They've served you and me a mean trick, Hal," began the doctor rather warmly. "Some of it was my fault. I told the committee that you would not take it next year under five hundred dollars."
"It's worth that," said Hal quietly.
"Yes, if it is worth a cent. Well, Squire Haines has had a niece staying with him who has taught school in Brooklyn for eight or ten years,—a great, tall sharp kind of a woman; and she was willing to come for the old salary. She's setting her cap for Mrs. Haines's brother, I can see that fast enough. The squire, he's favored her; and they've pushed the matter through."
"Then Miss Perkins has it!" Hal exclaimed with a gasp, feeling as if he were stranded on the lee-shore.
"Exactly. And I don't know but it is best. To tell the truth, Hal, you are not strong, and you did work too hard last year. You want rest; but you'll never be able to go into the battle rough and tumble. I may as well tell you this."
"Do you think I shall never"—Hal's lip quivered.
"The fall gave you a great shock, you see; and then the confinement in school was altogether wrong. You want quiet and ease; and I do think this flower-business will be the very thing for you. I've been casting it over in my mind; and I have a fancy that another spring I'll be able to do something for you. Keep heart, my boy. It's darkest just before the dawn, you know."
"You are so kind!" and the brown eyes filled with tears.
"It will all come out right, I'm pretty sure. This winter's rest will be just the thing for you. Now, don't fret yourself back to the old point again; for you have improved a little. And, if you want any thing, come to me. We all get in tight places sometimes."