“I made up my mind suddenly to go to town,” was the answer. “There wasn’t time to go around by the turnpike. I thought I could get across before the train came. I’ve seen boys go over it.”
“But you’re not a boy,” rejoined Roy, with a smile.
“No. I’m not a boy,” and Roy could feel a shudder pass through the arm that was resting on his shoulder.
Mr. Tyler lived in a house not far from the Burdock station. An old woman did the cooking for him and went home at night. For the rest he dwelt almost like a hermit, and so far as any one knew he had not a relative in the world. But the report had gone out as it always does in such cases, that he was very rich, and now his desire to see a lawyer and make a will convinced Roy that for once rumor must be right.
“I wonder how much he’s got and to whom he’ll leave it?” he asked himself, but now they were within sight of the little house and the old man leaned so heavily upon him, that all his attention was centered on getting him safely to the end of their journey.
By the time this was accomplished Mr. Tyler was so completely exhausted that he dropped down on the first chair they reached.
“After you are rested a bit,” said Roy, “I’ll help you to get to bed.”
“No, no,” protested the old man; “so many people die in their beds. Go and tell Ann to get a little more for dinner to-night. You and Sydney must stay and eat it with me. It will take quite a time to have my will drawn up. You’ll find her in the kitchen.”
The woman was not much surprised when Roy told her of the condition in which her master had come home.
“It’s what I’ve been expecting every day,” she said. “He doesn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive. I’m amazed to think he should ask you to stop to dinner. It’s little enough you’ll get, Master Roy, but I’ll do my best.”