"Yer'll 'ave to give up that notion 'bout the country, Giles, for 'tain't true."
"Yus, I believe I must give it up," said Giles.
"Ain't yer anxious now 'bout dear Sue?" asked Connie.
"Not wery," said Giles. "Ef she ain't in the country, the good Lord 'ave her safe somewhere else—that's wot I'm a-thinkin' of. Father John said to me we'en he come last as trials of this sort are good for me."
"You 'ave nothing but trials, poor Giles!" said Connie.
"Oh no," answered Giles; "I ha' lots o' blessings—you and Big Ben, the beautiful Woice, you know. Connie, some'ow I think as my wings is growin' wery fast. I think w'en they're full-grown——"
"Wot then?" asked Connie.
"Why, I'll fly away. I can't 'ardly believe as a poor little lame boy like me could fly up higher than the stars, but that's wot 'ull 'appen. I picter it wery often—me no longer tied down to my bed, but with wings, flyin' about as strong as the angels. Only Father John says I'll be higher than the angels, for I'll be one o' the ransomed o' the Lord. I'll see Father John, too, an' you'll come after a bit, an' Sue 'ull come. I can't fret no, I can't."
After this Connie went for the doctor, and the doctor said that the boy was very ill—that he might linger a few weeks more, but his sufferings were growing less, and that Connie's kind care was effecting wonders for him.
The weeks went by. Harris grew accustomed to his sense of guilt, and Sue to her captivity. Pickles was anxiously looking forward to a crisis. Harris, after giving way to drink for several days, refrained again and worked steadily. He brought in, in consequence, good wages, and Connie and Giles wanted for nothing. It was the one salve to his conscience, this making of Giles comfortable; otherwise, notwithstanding the manifest amendment of his ways, he was scarcely happy. Indeed, Pickles took care that he should not be so. In the most unlikely and unexpected places this dreadful boy would dart upon him, and more and more certain was Harris that he not only knew his secret, but had witnessed his guilt. Harris would have fled miles from the boy, but the boy would not be fled from. He acted as a perpetual blister on the man's already sore conscience, and Harris almost hated him.