David insisted that Frederick should lie down in the cart, and lean his head on his knees; thus seated in the back of the cart, he held the youth in a half embrace, and watched over him with paternal solicitude.
"My child," said he, carefully wrapping Frederick in the thick covering loaned by the brickmaker, "are you not cold?"
"No, M. David."
"Now, let us agree upon facts. Your mother must never know what has happened this morning. We will say, shall we not, that, surprised by a beating rain, we obtained this cart with great difficulty? The brickmaker thinks you fell in the water by imprudently venturing too near the slope of the embankment. He has promised me not to noise abroad this accident, the reports of which might frighten your mother. Now, that being agreed upon, we will think of it no more."
"What kindness! what generosity! You think of everything. You are right; my mother must not know that you have saved my life at the risk of your own, and yet—"
"What your mother ought to know, my dear Frederick, what she ought to see, is that I have kept the promise that I made to her this morning, for time presses."
"What promise?"
"I promised her to cure you."
"Cure me!" and Frederick bowed his head with grief. "Cure me!"
"And this cure must be accomplished this morning."