“They are an affectionate family too,” said Margaret, “and his mother’s grief may have an effect on him.”
“If she does not treat him as an injured hero,” said Flora; “besides, I see no reason for regret. These are but two, and the school is not to be sacrificed to them.”
“Yes,” said Norman; “I believe that Ashe will be able to keep much better order without Axworthy. It is much better as it is, but Harry will be very sorry to hear it, and I wish this half was over.”
Poor Mrs. Anderson! her shower of notes rent the heart of the one doctor, but were tossed carelessly aside by the other. On that Sunday, Norman held various conversations with his probable successor, Ashe, a gentle, well-disposed boy, hitherto in much dread of the post of authority, but owning that, in Axworthy’s absence, the task would be comparatively easy, and that Anderson would probably originate far less mischief.
Edward Anderson himself fell in Norman’s way in the street, and was shrinking aside, when a word, of not unfriendly greeting, caused him to quicken his steps, and say, hesitatingly, “I say, how is August?”
“Better, thank you; he will be all right in a day or two.”
“I say, we would not have bullied him so, if he had not been in such a fright at nothing.”
“I dare say not.”
“I did not mean it all, but that sort of thing makes a fellow go on,” continued Edward, hanging down his head, very sorrowful and downcast.
“If it had only been fair bullying; but to take him to that place—to teach him falsehood—” said Norman.