“Ah, that remains to be seen,” said Glyn. “That’ll be years to come, and who knows what will happen before then?”
“I don’t care what happens,” cried Singh hotly. “He’s coming back to India when I go. Why, he told me himself that my father made him my guardian, and that he promised to look after me as long as he lived. He said he promised to be a father to me. It was that day when I got into a passion about something, and made him so cross. But I was very sorry afterwards,” said the boy quietly, “he’s such a good old fellow, and made me like him as much as I did my own father.”
“Well,” said Glyn merrily, “you have always had your share of him. It has made me feel quite jealous sometimes.”
“Jealous! Why?” said Singh wonderingly.
“Because he seemed to like you better than he did me.”
“What a shame!” cried Singh. “Oh, I say, you don’t mean that, do you, Glyn, old chap? Why, you don’t know how fond he is of you.”
“Don’t I?”
“No; you should hear what he says about you sometimes.”
“Says about me? What does he say about me?”
“Oh, perhaps I oughtn’t to tell you,” said Singh, showing his white teeth.