"Theodore!"
Oh, the wealth of love in the weak voice! Theodore stole quietly across the floor, and took up his favourite position on the edge of the bed.
"How are you now, old fellow?" he asked gently. "Better."
The beautiful brown eyes rested contentedly on Theodore's face; the frail hand sought Theodore's strong clasp.
"Better? that's right! You've been dreadfully bad this time, haven't you? Never mind, you'll soon be well."
"I hope so."
"Oh, you will!" Theodore declared hopefully.
"I want to get well," Jack whispered faintly. "I wish you would sing to me, Theo—will you? You know my favourite hymn."
So Theodore sang, "At even, ere the sun was set," quite unmindful of the presence of any one but Jack, whose face grew radiant as he listened. When it was ended the little invalid closed his eyes, as though he was sleepy; but opening them again in a few moments, he spoke in a distressed voice:
"Mother, I haven't said my prayers!"