“How do you know it is not going down—if you can hear it at all, in this din?”
“O, it is quite a different sound, going out; a—a—I can’t tell you what; but quite a different sound.”
“Poor boy!” said a by-stander. “I wish you could see how pretty the water looks, with all the gay flags above it, and the smart people.”
“Thank you,” said Tim, and he shuffled off once more.
“Do you think that is the best way of comforting people for such a loss as that poor boy’s?” asked Walter, who was not the person to ask such a question, unless roused on poor Tim’s behalf.
“Why, it is what one feels, you see; and what one hears people say every day,” replied the man.
“Well, that’s true; but I don’t think it is the kindest thing to say. If you can give him a knowledge of what is going on, it is all very well; but not merely to put him in mind uselessly that he cannot enjoy it. At least, such is my rule.”
“And a very good one, I have no doubt. To be sure, to make it one’s own case for a minute, one can hardly fancy what answer one would make.”
“Ah! it is not every one that could say, like Tim, ‘Thank you,’ and directly run off to amuse himself.”
“Indeed there are but few; and the great thing is to find out how they take their misfortune themselves. There are some that look as if they would knock you down if you do but come near the matter with them; and others shake all over, or put on a sort of affectation that is worse; and some like to talk and be talked to about it; and others (and they are the wisest) just take it simply and naturally, so as to remove one’s difficulty, almost entirely.”