“Good-night,” he whispered, as Perry bent over him, and then there was another whisper.
“Can father send you back, Cil?” and the answer came:
“It’s too late now. No.”
Just then the colonel lay down again in his old place, and another rustling told that John Manning was curling up in his.
“Good-night, Perry, my boy,” said the colonel.
“Good-night, father,” replied Perry, and then to himself, “Oh, I hope he’ll say good-night to poor old Cil.”
He had his wish.
“Good-night, Cyril,” came rather huskily.
“Good-night, sir,” said the boy, in a voice he could hardly keep steady.
And then came: