"Were you?" The father's face brightened a little, then fell again. "He'll be glad to see you. He has often spoken of you, especially lately. My poor boy!" He almost broke down.
Timothy's heart sank within him.
"Is Teddy unwell?" he asked.
"He is very ill," replied Mr. Meadows, turning his head.
"Very ill?" said Timothy, with sudden terror.
"Very, very ill." He turned his face again to Timothy, grateful for the note of sympathy in the lad's voice, and then Timothy saw that his eyes were filled with tears.
"Oh, I am so sorry, so sorry!" said Timothy, unable to restrain his own tears. "Not seriously, Mr. Meadows; not seriously, I hope."
"Yes, seriously," said Mr. Meadows, sadly, and he laid a kind hand on Timothy's shoulder. "But go and see him. He will be glad." And saying this, and afraid to trust himself further, Mr. Meadows hurried away to his work.
Timothy walked slowly on, greatly shocked by the sorrowful news. Mr. Meadows's voice and manner denoted that he feared the worst. The worst? Yes, perhaps death.
It stirred Timothy's heart deeply; a wave of sorrow was passing over it, and he had never till this moment realized how much he loved the young friend who was lying in such peril. His own troubles were forgotten; he thought only of poor Teddy.