Walter was not very long in mounting to his lofty garret and descending from it, but in the meantime Florence, overcome by fatigue, had sunk into a doze before the fire. The short interval of quiet, though only a few minutes in duration, enabled Solomon Gills so far to collect his wits as to make some little arrangements for her comfort, and to darken the room, and to screen her from the blaze. Thus, when the boy returned, she was sleeping peacefully.
“That’s capital!” he whispered, giving Solomon such a hug that it squeezed a new expression into his face. “Now I’m off. I’ll just take a crust of bread with me, for I’m very hungry—and don’t wake her, Uncle Sol.”
“No, no,” said Solomon. “Pretty child.”
“Pretty, indeed!” cried Walter. “I never saw such a face, Uncle Sol. Now I’m off.”
“That’s right,” said Solomon, greatly relieved.
“I say, Uncle Sol,” cried Walter, putting his face in at the door.
“Here he is again,” said Solomon.
“How does she look now?”
“Quite happy,” said Solomon.
“That’s famous! now I’m off.”