“Have you had a pleasant Day?” said I.
I looked at him as I spoke, and shall never forget his Face!
—“Good-night,” said he shortly; “we’ll talk it over to-morrow,”—
And impatiently took from my Hands his Candle, which I was trying to light for him at mine. But it had been snuffed too short, and would not light as readily as he wished; which made him curse it in a low, deep Voice. I had never heard him swear before.
“Mark,” said I, looking anxiously at him, “you are ill.”
“No, I’m not,” said he abruptly; “Good-night. Thank you for sitting up for me.”
“I’m not at all tired,” said I, “and there’s some Supper for you in the Kitchen. Let us go there, and have a little Chat over the Pleasures of the Day—you don’t look sleepy.”
From white he turned to deep red.
“The Day has not been so pleasant as you suppose,” said he huskily; “you have been better and happier at your Mother’s Bedside. I wish there were more such as you in the World. Good-night, dear, good Cherry!”
—And sprang up Stairs without another Word, taking two Steps at a Time. I went to Bed, but not to sleep; I could not get his strange Look and Manner out of my Head.