A thrill of satisfaction passed through Frank Merriwell, for those words satisfied him that, indeed, the better side of the man’s nature was not entirely dead. At last, old Joe had been touched by the pathetic beauty of the blind girl and by her gentle ways.
“Shan’t we get a doctor for you, uncle?” asked the boy.
“Doctor? No! What does a man want of a doctor when he is dreamin’? Keep still, or I shall wake up!”
“Oh, dear uncle,” said Nellie, touching his iron-gray hair, “you have had such a hard, hard time in the world!”
“Angel!” whispered old Joe. “Never believed in ’em! Never took no stock in ’em. But she’s one! ’Sh! Let me sleep.”
He closed his eyes and was silent for some time. Little Jack looked at Frank, who nodded his satisfaction.
When the old engineer opened his eyes again, he said:
“Go away! You mustn’t touch me like this! I’m not fit to be touched by those white hands! I shall leave a stain upon them. Let me get up. Where am I?”
“You are here—here in our room, which we call home. You shall stay here till you are well. I will nurse you. I have been ill myself, but now I am well enough to nurse you.”
“I don’t deserve it. It’s not a dream, after all. It’s true!”