“Quarter past five, and now you ought to be taken home right away, and have a doctor.”
“You think I am very bad then?” Again the frightened look came into the old man’s face.
“No, of course not. Lots of people have to call the doctor when they’re not going to die.”
“Don’t speak of dying. I’m afraid to die. See, I don’t mind telling you so. And I ought to be. I haven’t done very much good in the world. There isn’t anybody I can think of will be sorry to have me go. That isn’t the way to live, Roy Pell. You ought to be happy, so happy, because you are young, and have your life before you to make it the way it should be made.”
“You have life before you, too, Mr. Tyler. You are not so very old. You’re not much more than seventy.”
“I’m seventy-two. But come, let me see if I can get up with your help. I want you to take me home, so you can go for Sydney. He’s a good boy, you say, one I can trust?” The old man looked in Roy’s face closely as the latter bent over him.
“Sydney is the best fellow that ever lived,” replied Roy soberly. “He’s been a staff to my mother ever since father died, and has almost taken his place to us children.”
“Yes, yes. I’ve heard that what your father did for him years ago was like bread cast upon the waters that’s coming back after many days. Let me see, how old are you?”
“Fifteen. I tell you what, Mr. Tyler. The girls are down under the bridge. Wait a minute till I call down to them to send Syd over as soon as he comes. Then I’ll go home with you and needn’t leave you.”
“All right. You’re very good to me, Roy Pell.” The miser sank back on the grass, while Roy hurried to the edge of the bluff and making a trumpet of his hands, called down: