"What's the matter?" asked Phil, anxiously, coming up to the trembling lad. "Not ill, I hope?"
"No; I'm not ill. It's only a little faintness."
"Do you know," said Phil, as he noted closely the lad's mean dress and hollow cheeks, "that you look to me as though you were hungry. Tell me honestly if you have had any breakfast this morning."
"No," replied Alaric, in a low tone.
"Or any supper last night?"
"No."
"Did you have any dinner yesterday?"
"I can't exactly remember, but I don't think I did."
"Why, man," cried tender-hearted Phil, horror-stricken at this revelation, "you are starving! And I've been keeping you here playing ball! What a heedless brute I am! Never mind; just you wait until I can carry this little chap inside, and don't you stir from that seat until I come back."
With this Phil, picking up Nel-te and bidding Amook follow him, hurried away, leaving Alaric still holding the baseball, and filled with a very queer mixture of conflicting emotions.