“He says,” returned the boy, turning an almost humbly devoted look on Kemp, “that I must not think of gardening for some weeks. And so—and so—”
“Yes?”
“And so,” explained the doctor, briskly, “he is going to hold my reins on our rounds, and imbibe a world of sunshine to expend on some flowers—yours or mine, perhaps—by and by.”
Bob’s eyes were luminous with feeling as they rested on the dark, bearded face of his benefactor.
“Now say all you have to say, and we’ll be off,” said Kemp, tucking in the robe at Bob’s side.
“I didn’t have anything to say, sir; I came only to let her know.”
“And I am so glad, Bob,” said Ruth, smiling up into the boy’s shy, speaking eyes. People always will try to add to the comfort of a convalescent, and Ruth, in turn, drew down the robe over the lad’s hands. As she did so, her cousin, Jennie Lewis, passed hurriedly by. Her quick blue eyes took in to a detail the attitudes of the trio.
“Good-morning, Jennie,” said Ruth, turning; “are you coming in?”
“Not now,” bowing stiffly and hurrying on.
“Cabbage-rose.”