"Oh, we'll go with you, certainly!" Claude exclaimed, touched by the wistful expression of her face. "You lead the way. What's in your parcel?" he asked curiously.
"It's—it's blankets," she responded, blushing painfully; "we had to pawn them when father was out of work, and Bobby was so ill; we never did such a thing before, but we couldn't starve—it's dreadful to be hungry. Father's just been to fetch the blankets—I told you he's at work again now—and he gave them to me at the corner of the street to carry home, he wouldn't let me go into the pawn-shop. He's gone to get Bobby's medicine."
Neither Claude nor Freddy made any comment, though they both felt very sympathetic. The former wished he had asked his mother to visit the sick boy, he was sure she would have complied with his request, for she was always ready to extend a helping hand to those in distress of any kind; and the latter was horrified at the idea of people being so poor as to be obliged to pawn their bedding in the depth of winter.
When Number Five Court, East Street, was reached, they followed the little girl into her home, and into the presence of Bobby—a boy of about their own age, though he looked older—who was posted up in bed with a shawl pinned around his shoulders. He turned a pair of dark, hollow eyes inquiringly upon his visitors, then glanced at his sister, who ran to him and whispered hurriedly in his ear.
"Oh, I am glad!" he exclaimed, a flush rising to his pale cheeks. "Which of them was it that gave you that shilling, Lizzie?"
The girl indicated Freddy, who came forward and asked the invalid how he was, whilst Claude stood in the background looking on.
"I'm better—much better," was the reply to Freddy's inquiry. "I want to thank you for your kindness—"
"It was nothing," Freddy interposed. He was feeling awkward, for he had never paid a visit to a sick room in his life before. "I didn't want the money. I should only have spent it in sweets if I hadn't given it away. You look very ill still. Are you certain you are better?"
"Oh, yes! The doctor says so—the parish doctor, you know. I caught a bad chill by getting drenched to the skin, and letting my clothes dry on me. I sell papers in the streets in the evenings. Oh, I shall soon be well now!" he declared hopefully.
"I am sure I hope so," Freddy said with genuine sympathy in his voice; "you must keep yourself warm, and—"