“Well, there he is,” replied Newt, pointing to another bed. “Jim! Jim!”
Greenidge roused himself.
“What’s the matter?” said his cheery voice, as he rose upon his elbow and looked at Gabriel with his kind eyes. “Come here, Gabriel. What is it?”
Gabriel hesitated, for Abel Newt was looking sharply at him. But in a moment he went to Greenidge’s bedside, and said, shyly, in a low voice,
“Shall I black your boots for you?”
“Black my boots! Why, Gabriel, what on earth do you mean? No, of course you shall not.”
And the strong youth looked pleasantly on the boy who stood by his bedside, and then put out his hand to him.
“Can’t I brush your clothes then, or do any thing for you?” persisted Gabriel, softly.
“Certainly not. Why do you want to?” replied Greenidge.
“Oh! I only thought it would be pleasant if I could do something—that’s all,” said Gabriel, as he moved slowly away. “I’m sorry to have waked you.”