Noll looked at his uncle as if he failed to comprehend.
"You don't mean that I'm not to go there any more?" he said.
"Yes, since you are not disposed to incline to my wishes, I must command you. You are not to go near—"
This time it was Noll who interrupted. Before Trafford could finish his command, the boy had taken two or three quick steps forward and clasped his arms so quickly and convulsively about the stern man's neck that he was startled into silence.
"Don't, don't say that, Uncle Richard!" cried Noll; "I couldn't mind you if you did! It wouldn't be right,—when they're all sick and almost starving,—and I couldn't do it, and it is not as papa told me to do! And—"
Trafford endeavored to release Noll's hold, but the boy only clung the tighter, exclaiming,—
"No, no! don't say it, Uncle Richard, for I couldn't mind you! Papa never would wish me to! And oh, why don't you help those poor, dying people? Why don't you help them, Uncle Richard? Why don't you,—why don't you?"
Surprised at this unusual vehemence on the part of his nephew, Trafford was silent, hardly knowing whether to be angry or indifferent. That this matter lay very near the boy's heart, he had no longer any doubt. What could he do with him?
"Noll," said he after a long silence, "do you mean that you will not obey me?"
The boy hesitated. "In everything else, Uncle Richard," he answered, with red cheeks and downcast eyes; "but this—but this—oh, how can you ask me to stop? There isn't any one else to do anything, and it helps a little, and they look for me to come every day; and if I did not—oh, Uncle Richard, it would be too cruel! I can't do it! Do you think papa would be pleased?"