“Oh! Then, it is not so bad,” said one, while Tooke, who was listening, gave a deep sigh of relief.
“Not so bad!” exclaimed Phil. “Why, he will never be so strong—so able and active as other men. He will never be able to take care of himself and other people. He will be so unlike other people always; and now, while he is a boy, he will never—”
The images of poor Hugh’s privations and troubles as a schoolboy were too much for Phil, and he laid down his head on his desk, to hide his grief. As for Tooke, he walked away, looking the picture of wretchedness.
“When will you see him again?” asked Dale, passing his arm round Phil’s neck.
“To-day, if he is pretty well. My mother promised me that.”
“Do you think you could get leave for me too? I would not make any noise, nor let him talk too much, if I might just see him.”
“I’ll see about it,” said Phil.
As Mrs Proctor was placing the pillows comfortably, for Hugh to have his breakfast, after he was washed, and the bed made nicely smooth, he yawned, and said he was sleepy still, and that he wondered what o’clock it was. His mother told him it was a quarter past ten.
“A quarter past ten! Why, how odd! The boys are half through school, almost, and I am only just awake!”
“They slept through the whole night, I dare say. You were awake a good many times; and you and I had some talk. Do you remember that? Or has it gone out of your head with your sound sleep?”