“Oh, Newbolt, you’ll do what I want. Phil is ill, and his mother doesn’t want any one to know about it. Take all this horrid mess away and give me some strong, strong, beautiful beef tea and a nice little piece of toast. I’ll wait here, and you won’t be long, will you, dear Newbolt?”
Newbolt loved Phil and detested his mother. With a sudden snort she caught up Rachel’s tray, and returned presently with a tempting little meal suited to an invalid.
“If the child is ill I’ll come up with you to see him, Miss Rachel,” she said.
Phil was lying on his back; his eyes were shut; his face looked very pinched and blue. True, however, to the little Spartan that he was, when he heard Rachel’s step he started up and smiled and welcomed her in a small but very cheery voice.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” he said, “ but I didn’t want any supper; I told mother so. Oh, what is that—white soup? I do like white soup. And oysters? Yes, I can eat two or three oysters. How very kind you are, Rachel. I begin to feel quite hungry, that supper looks so nice.”
Rachel carried the tempting little tray herself, but behind her came Newbolt, whom Phil now perceived for the first time.
“Have you come up to see me, Newbolt?” he said. “But I am not at all ill. I happened to get tired, and mother said I must rest here.”
“The best place for a tired little boy to rest is in his bed, not on it,” said Newbolt. “If you please. Master Phil, I am going to put you into bed, and then Miss Rachel shall feed you with this nice supper. Oh, yes, sir, we know you’re not the least bit ill—oh, no, not the least bit in the world; but we are going to treat you as if you were, all the same.”
Phil smiled and looked up at Newbolt as if he would read her innermost thoughts. He was only too glad to accept her kind services, and quite sighed with relief when she laid him comfortably on his pillows. Newbolt wrapped a little red dressing-jacket over his shoulders, and then poking the fire vigorously and seeing that the queer old tower room looked as cheerful as possible, she left the two children together. Rachel and Phil made very merry over his supper, and Phil almost forgot that he had been feeling one of the most forsaken and miserable little boys in the world half an hour ago. Rachel had developed quite a nice little amount of tact, and she by no means worried Phil with questions as to whether his illness was real or feigned. But when he really smiled, and the color came back to his cheeks, and his laugh sounded strong and merry once more, she could not help saying abruptly:
“Phil, I have been wanting to see you by yourself for some time. I cannot tell Kitty, for Kitty is not to know; but, Phil, what happened to you that day in the forest is no secret to me.”