“I haven’t told you the worst of it, Johnny,” he said, in a troubled voice, from which all the usual mocking good-nature was gone, “the little chap has somehow found out that he’s dying, and—he’s afraid!”
There was no time for more; they were already on the stairs, and Johnny gave a sort of groan; who was he to comfort that little trembling soul?
“Oh,” he thought, “if mamma were only here!”
CHAPTER XIV.
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW.
The room they entered was much more neat and clean than Johnny had expected to find it, and there was even some attempt at decoration, in the way of picture cards and show bills tacked upon the dingy walls. A stove, whose old age and infirmities were concealed by much stove-blacking, held a cheerful little fire, and the panes of the one window were bright and clear. The bed, which looked unpleasantly hard, and was scantily furnished, had been pulled to a place between the fire and the window, and Taffy, sitting up against a skilfully arranged chair-back and two thin pillows, looked eagerly towards the door as it opened. The sharp, thin little face brightened with a smile, as he saw Jim, but he did not speak.
“Taffy,” said Jim, gently, “here’s Johnny Leslie. He’s come to see you, and read to you a little bit. He’s Miss Tiny’s brother, you know, and Mrs. Leslie’s son. Won’t you shake hands with him?”