"You see, Master Theodore," she explained one day, "there's no need to keep the poor little fellow at a distance, seeing it's not likely he will be here long anyway. He's that fond of you, too! Why, when you're out his eyes are always looking towards the door at the slightest sound, thinking you're coming. 'Jane,' he said to me the other day, 'isn't it grand to be strong like Theo!' Poor little chap! It's hard times for him!"
By this time the stepbrothers were fast friends. As the weather became warmer, Jack went out every day, and was drawn about the garden in his wheeled invalid's chair. He made acquaintance with John Bawdon, and the old man would often chat to the child. On one of these occasions, when the two were left alone together for a few minutes, Jack asked the age of his companion, and, on being told, remarked thoughtfully:
"How strange to be so old! Do you know I am only seven, and I shall not live long; perhaps I shall die before you, John."
"Maybe, sir; God knows. But I'm an old chap, that's certain, and it can't be long before I shall see the King in His beauty."
"'Thine eyes shall see the King in His beauty, they shall behold the land that is very far off,'" quoted the child, the soft, musical tones of his voice going straight to his companion's heart.
"Aye, aye, sir, that's it. It used to be my mother's favourite verse, and I've always minded it."
"Your mother? I suppose she's dead?" Jack said dubiously.
"She died so many years agone that I've lost count o' the time, Master Jack. She lies in the churchyard yonder."
"Theodore's mother is buried there, too—he told me. I think it is very pleasant to be alive—that is, sometimes. Of course it's not nice if you're in pain."
The old man shook his head, and glanced pityingly at the thin, little face, and the beautiful brown eyes, that looked far too big and bright.