"I?" exclaimed Lawrence, aghast.
"Yes, it must be you; he will take it better from you than from anyone else; but wait and see; you will be shown what to do."
The result of the curate's mission to Cranbury was very satisfactory. On being directed to the solitary remaining inhabitant of the name of Wilkins, Reginald learnt that Sarah Wilkins had been the only daughter of his brother, that she had married a ne'er-do-weel of the name of Whiston, who had deserted her shortly before the birth of her child, that she had followed her husband to London as soon as she was able to travel, and after a while had been lost sight of by her family. The old man seemed but slightly interested in the matter, and Reginald saw that no interference need be feared from him. On further consulting the parish register, he found recorded the marriage of Thomas Whiston and Sarah Wilkins, and a year later, the baptism of Wilkins, son of Thomas and Sarah Whiston, in 1856.
"So it is as I hoped, the child is one of the Flock," the curate said to himself. "And that mite of a boy is thirteen years old!" and he returned to London triumphant, bringing with him besides the information he went to seek, a root of primroses with yellow-tipped spikes ready to burst, and an early thrush's nest containing five delicate blue eggs. This last treasure Reginald displayed with intense pride.
"I found a boy carrying it on the road, and rated the young rascal soundly for taking it, but I'm afraid the shilling I gave him made more impression than the lecture. Isn't it a beauty? I wonder when I last saw a nest?" he went on, touching the eggs with loving fingers. "Hardly since our old bird's-nesting days, eh, Lawrence! Do you remember the missel-thrush in the apple-tree?"
"Ay, and the licking you got for splitting your Sunday jacket up the back;" and the two "working-men" laughed at the recollection, as they carried the prize to display to Wikkey, with a comical anxiety, almost amounting to dread, lest it should not produce the effect they intended. No fear of that! Wikkey's eyes dilated as he gazed into the nest, and, after some persuasion, took one of the smooth eggs into his hand; and from that moment he could not endure it out of his sight, but had it placed morning and evening beside his sofa or bed, near his other treasure, the Picture of the King, on the other side of which stood the primrose, planted in one of Mrs. Evans' tea-cups.
As the spring advanced, Wikkey became visibly worse, and all saw that the end could not be far off. Reginald, coming in one evening, found him asleep in Lawrence's arms, and was startled to see how great a change had taken place in him during the last four and twenty hours. In answer to his inquiring look, his cousin said, speaking very low—
"Since this morning, he is much worse; but better now than he was."
Sitting down, on the opposite side of the fire, Reginald thoughtfully contemplated the two. What a contrast! Lawrence, all health and strength, with the warm light glancing on the thick waves of his hair, and deepening the ruddy brown of his complexion, while the glow scarcely served to tint the pale face lying on his breast—deadly white, save for the two red spots on the sunken checks—or the hair hanging in loose lank threads. For some time no one spoke, but as the boy's sleep continued sound and unbroken, the cousins fell into talk, low and subdued, and many things were touched on in that quiet hour, which neither could have put into words at another time. At length Reginald rose to go, and at the same moment, Wikkey opened his eyes and smiled, as he saw his visitor, and tried to lift himself up.
"I'm awake now," he said; "I didn't know as you were here."