“I will not let him trouble me, don’t be afraid; but let him sit down here by the fire, and when I find he disturbs me I’ll send him away.”
Mrs. Stone vanished, and Johnny took up his station on a stool in a corner of the hearth-rug.
Miss Endell busied herself with a book, but from time to time she looked at the boy. His face was pale and wistful still, but a half-smile, as sad as tears, was round his poor silent mouth, and he was gazing at his new friend as if he would fix every line of her face in his memory for ever.
For a long hour he sat there; and then Mrs. Stone came to lay the cloth for dinner, and sent him away to bed.
The next morning he appeared again; and soon it grew to be his habit to sit, almost all the day through, and watch Miss Endell at her tasks. In spite of her absorption, he occupied a good many of her thoughts.
Like him, she was an orphan; and she had few close and vital interests in her life. She got to feel as if it belonged to her, in a certain way, to look after this silent waif of humanity more lonely still than herself.
Often she took an hour from her work to read little tales to him, and it was reward enough to see how his eyes brightened, and the color came into his pale little face. She used to think that if her work succeeded, Johnny should also be the better for it. As soon as the first edition of “Noted Irishwomen” was sold, she would have the best medical advice for him; and if there were such a thing as giving those lips language, it should be done.
“Should you like to speak to me, Johnny?” she asked one day suddenly.
The boy looked at her, for one moment, with eyes that seemed to grow larger and larger. Then came a great rush of sobs and tears that shook him so that Miss Endell was half-frightened at the effect of her own words. She bent over and put her hand on his head.
“Don’t, Johnny! Don’t, dear!” she said tenderly.