The doctor had said it was ten to one against any one who was sick in that little damp house in the hollow; and he wanted Jamie brought up the hill to their own home. He watched the faces of his father and mother as he spoke; and it seemed to him that a refusal was hovering upon their lips, and he said, earnestly,—
"Don't speak, just yet. Remember that he is his mother's only son, as I am yours. If I lay sick where there was no hope for me, and some one else might, perhaps, save me by taking me in, would you think they ought to try it, or to let me die?"
Mr. Shaftsbury looked into his wife's eyes.
"Robert is right," she said, with the sudden, sweet smile which always seemed to make the day brighter when it came to her lips. "If the poor boy can be helped by being brought here, we must bring him."
"I will go and see," Mr. Shaftsbury answered, at once.
"And I, too, papa," said my little gentleman.
"Not you, I think. I fear contagion for you."
"I think there is no danger for me, living on this bright hill-top, in these great, airy rooms,—but even if there were, I am sure you would let me go if you knew how much Jamie loves me."
"Come, then," his father said, quietly. He had been, all his son's life, preaching to him of heroism and self-sacrifice and devotion. He dared not interfere with almost his first opportunity for any real exercise of them. So the two went down the hill together.