“Why do you try to keep anything from me? Father is worse, as I can see from you face.”
“Yes,” replied the mother, the tears filling her eyes; “he is not as well to-night as usual.”
Dick shoved back his chair.
“I will go for Dr. Armstrong; it’s too bad that he could not have been called long ago.”
“I would have gone, but I feared to leave him alone, and we were expecting you every minute. You must eat something and swallow a cup of tea.”
Poor Dick’s vigorous appetite was gone, but partly to please his parent, and partly because he knew it was best, he ate and drank a little. Then he ran up-stairs to see his father, who was suffering from a fevered condition which made him slightly delirious. The brave boy spoke a few cheerful words, and then, promising to return as soon as he could, hastened down-stairs and donned his hat and coat.
“You can go quite fast on your bicycle, Dick,” said the mother, “and you know we shall count the minutes till the doctor comes.”
“You can depend on me to do my best; I will take my bicycle, though it isn’t very far.”
He had kissed her good-night, and was out-of-doors. The machine had been left just within the gate, where he always leaned it against the trunk of a short, thick cedar. He advanced to take it, as he had done so many times, but to his dismay it was gone.
The door had closed behind him before he had made the discovery, so that his mother knew nothing of his loss.