'I hope Horace had nothing to do with it,' said Fred.
'Oh, didn't he, though! Three boys would soon have been dead if he hadn't gone in. That's how he got hurt. You can go and see him, my father says, only you mustn't talk much.'
Fred was not long getting his tea; he was too anxious to go and hear more of what had happened to his brother, but he took care to wash himself and change his working clothes before presenting himself at the master's house.
He found Horace in bed, with both hands bandaged and looking very pale. He was able to tell him what had happened, but begged him not to say a word about it to his mother, as he felt sure he should be quite well in the morning. Fred hardly knew what to do, but at length agreed not to say a word about it when he wrote to his mother. When he had nearly reached his own home, he saw a boy waiting near the gate, and he said, 'Are you Howard's brother?'
'Yes. Who are you?' asked Fred.
'My name is Morrison, and I want to know if you think he will get well again.'
'I hope so. But why are you so anxious about it? Do you know how it happened?'
Leonard nodded.
'I know a bit,' said the boy sheepishly, 'and I wondered whether I'd better tell my father.'
'Yes, yes—tell him by all means,' said Fred eagerly. 'Come in a minute, and if you like I will go home with you and break the ice. I've always been in the habit of telling my mother when I got into a scrape; but it made it a bit easier if Horace told her something about it first, so I know how you feel about telling your father.'