"No, boy—better. A spasm or two through here," laying his hand upon his chest, "which will go off presently."
"That's well."
Sidney sat down again in his old place, muttering, "I wish she would come," and the father lay quiet and thoughtful in his bed once more.
Presently the father went off to sleep, and Sidney sat and listened, with his face turned towards the bed, all the long, long time, until the cab, containing Ann Packet and Mattie, drew up before the house.
They entered the house and came up-stairs together, Mattie and Ann. Sid made no effort to stop them, though his father was in a restless sleep, from which a step would waken him—he still sat there, gloomy and apathetic. They entered the room, and Mr. Hinchford woke up at the opening of the door.
"Where's Sid?" he called.
"Here," said the son, "and here's Mattie—the old friend, adviser, comforter at last!"
"Oh! why haven't I been told this before?—why have you all kept me so long in the dark?" said Mattie. "Oh! my dear old friend, my first kind friend of all of them!" she cried, turning to the sick bed where Mr. Hinchford was watching her.
"Tell him, Mattie, that I shall not be entirely alone or friendless when the parting comes," said Sidney; "it troubles him—I see it. Ann, don't go—one minute."
He crossed to her, laid his hand upon her arm, and went out whispering to her, leaving Mattie and Mr. Hinchford in the room together.