Thinking that the young man must be lonely, she had allowed the boys to run in and out of his rooms on their half holidays, at his request, and thus a warm friendship was formed between them.
The table was pushed to one side, its former contents cleared quite away,
next Sunday's sermons among them.
During Mrs. Fortescue's last illness, no one could have been more tender to and sympathizing with the children than he was, and it was to him that Geoffrey had gone at once when the end came. "Mr. Hodson," he had said, looking up at him with tearless eyes, but with a pale face, "Mother has gone."
For the minute Claude was quite silent, and then he did, what to him was the only possible thing he could do under the circumstances.
"Let us pray, Geoff," he had said in a low voice, and though no word was uttered aloud by either of them, they knelt silently together, Claude's hand resting tenderly on the boy's shoulder.
Geoff did not cry. His breath came quick and short for a few minutes, and then he grew calm. From that day their friendship was sealed.
On this particular afternoon of which I write, the Curate was in his element. He had invited his little friends to tea and had resolved to do what he could to cheer them up and to make them happy, and he certainly had succeeded.
Game after game they had played, turning everything in his room upside down.
The table was pushed to one side, its former contents cleared quite away, next Sunday's sermons among them, for the Vicar was away from home, and the preaching therefore devolved on the Curate.