Chapter Two.
The Tramp’s Legacy.
The doctor shook his head as he stood beside a plain bed in a whitewashed ward where the tramp lay muttering fiercely, and the brisk-looking master of the workhouse and a couple of elderly women stood in a group.
“No, Hippetts,” said the doctor; “the machinery is all to pieces and beyond repair. No.”
Just then there was a loud cry, consequent upon one of the women taking the child from where it had been seated upon the foot of the bed, and carrying it toward the door.
In a moment the sick man sprang up in bed, glaring wildly and stretching out his hands.
“Quick! take the boy away,” said the master; but the doctor held up his finger, watching the sick man the while.
Then he whispered a few words to the master, who seemed to give an unwilling consent, and the boy was placed within the tramp’s reach.
The man had been trying to say something, but the words would not come. As he touched the child’s hand, though, he gave vent to a sigh of satisfaction, and sank back upon the coarse pillow, while the child nestled to his side, sobbing convulsively, but rapidly calming down.
“Against all rule and precedent, doctor,” said the master, in an ill-used tone.