“I see in them suffering beings,” said Eugene intensely. “Their situation is like mine.” He stopped abruptly, and leaned his head on the arm that he had stretched out against the wall.
“When my husband was a lad he disliked animals and was cruel to them,” said Mrs. Hardy. “Then he had a serious illness. Two kittens that his mother owned used to sit on his bed, and watch him affectionately. He got to love them; and now he has the kindest heart for dumb animals, and also for men and women, of any man I know. Now I will leave you, for you are tired. Good-night, dear boy. God bless you;” and she went quietly away, and left him alone as she knew he wished to be.
CHAPTER VII.
THE SERGEANT TALKS OF WAR AND OTHER
THINGS.
The next morning Eugene was ill. He was not a very strong boy, and he had had more excitement and mental anxiety during the last few days than his slender frame and sensitive soul could withstand.
For some days he was obliged to keep his bed, where he was faithfully waited on by the keepers of his pretty prison.
Mrs. Hardy was the chief jailer; and although he uttered only polite conventional expressions of gratitude that she knew did not come from his heart, she felt sure that she would in time win her way into his stubborn affections.
“The great thing is to keep my temper with him,” she said to her husband one day; “he is so provoking sometimes, without meaning to be so.”