Tom stared again, and then burst out in his abrupt way—
“Oh, uncle! you don’t think I want to go back?”
“You were asking eagerly enough about it just now.”
“Yes—because—I—that is—oh, uncle, don’t be cross with me; I can’t help it.”
“No, I suppose not, Tom.”
“But you don’t understand me. I don’t want to leave here; I wouldn’t go back to London on any consideration. I—there, I must say it, I—I—there, I hate Uncle James.”
“What!” said Uncle Richard, looking at the boy curiously. “You are never happy without you are along with him.”
“But that’s because he is ill, and I thought you wanted me to be attentive to him.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, that’s it, uncle. He never liked me, and always used to be cross with me, and now when he’s very bad he’s always so fond of me, and keeps me with him, so that I can’t get away, and—and I don’t like it at all.”