“You’ve been to see the poor fellows?” said Roy, smiling.
“Yes—yes—they look white and ill. It is very sad, Roy. Such fine strong men, too. But what do you think of my going to read to them for an hour or two every day?”
“Not Latin?” said Roy, laughing.
“No, no, of course not. Something about the old wars.”
“Capital!” cried Roy. “Do!”
“And I might take my viol over, and play to them a little.”
“No, no; I say, don’t do that,” cried Roy.
“Eh? Why not? It would be so soothing.”
“No; it wouldn’t. Only make them miserable. They don’t understand sarabands and corantos; and you can’t play jigs.”
“No,” said the secretary, grandly, but with a peculiar look. “Perhaps they would not appreciate good music. And you are right; I do not understand jigs.”