"But that has been doing kindness to me," debated Dick.
"And to do you kindness, Dick, is one of the things I have lived for," said Mr. Henry, softly. "I am a Paradyne, you know; I have had a great debt upon me."
Dick could not see the argument, although Mr. Henry was a Paradyne. Brown minor interposed with an opportune question.
"Does the Head Master know of your illness, Mr. Henry?"
"Yes. He's coming round when the day's work's over."
"Trace will have the Orville."
"Oh, yes, I hope so."
The boys began to back out. Illness that might be about to terminate in death, nobody knew how soon, was what they were not accustomed to. It seemed to strike upon them as disheartening; not to mention a sense of awkwardness in the manners that was anything but agreeable. They had gone in, impudent and noisy; they went out humbly on tiptoe. At the garden gate they encountered Mother Butter, and did not molest her, or pay her a single compliment; to that lady's infinite astonishment, who came to the conclusion that they must have been "cowed" by a flogging all round.
Dick Loftus sat down on the stump of a tree in the playground. Dick, for the first time in his life, was supping sorrow. He did not look at the past in the light Mr. Henry appeared to do, when he spoke of the debt left on him by Captain Paradyne; but he remembered what the universal kindness (about which he had never previously thought) had been, and he knew that he who had shown it was passing rapidly away.
With an aching of the heart that Dick had never felt,—with the consciousness of that bitter sin, ingratitude, breaking its refrain on his brain, Dick started to his feet again, and dashed after Brown minor, taking a knife from his pocket as he ran. It was a recent acquisition, bought with some money that Dick had been saving for the purpose, and prized accordingly. Mr. Brown was astride on a gymnastic pole.