"Why are you so grave and sober of late?"
"I didn't know that I was, Uncle Richard."
Trafford looked keenly in his nephew's face, and at last drew him toward himself. What if the fever should get a hold of the boy? he thought, anxiously. There was no aid, no succor!
"Oh, Noll," he said, as tenderly as he might, "you cannot know what a blow it would be to me to lose you. Won't you be careful for my sake?"
"Yes, Uncle Richard; I don't think there is much danger, though. It is only the weak, half-starved ones that are ill."
A long silence followed. Then Noll asked, softly,—
"Do you give me permission to help them all I can, Uncle Richard?"
Trafford drew a great sigh, as if he felt himself to be yielding, perhaps, the boy's very life, and answered, "Yes."
"And you'll help me, too?" said Noll, brightly.
"No! Isn't this enough? What more would you have?"