“That’s right,” cried little Burton joyously; and he began to busy himself in putting his mice together, as he called it, and hooking the wire fastening before shutting up and closing the lid of his desk, while it was quite a different face that looked up into Glyn’s, as the boy cried: “There, it doesn’t hurt half as much now.”
“If I were you I’d go and wash my face,” said Glyn.
“What; is it dirty?”
“Oh, it’s all knuckled and rubbed. You must have been crying ever so long; your eyes are quite swelled. There, be off. I want to write my letter.”
While Glyn had been earnestly engaged comforting Burton and before he started his letter, he had not observed the return of Singh with his pockets looking bulgy and his face wearing a good-tempered smile.
“Done?” he said, as Burton took his departure.
“What, you back again?” cried Glyn. “I thought I should have been in time enough to come and meet you. If you had been another quarter of an hour I should.”
“What; did you mean to come?” cried Singh joyously.
“Of course.”
“Oh, you are a good chap! Here, come on up to our room. Look here.”