"He won't be here very long, boy,—perhaps another month or so," said the doctor as he drove away.
"A month or so! only a month!" said Christie to himself, as he walked slowly back, with a dead weight on his soul. A month more with his dear old master,—only another month, only another month. And in the minute which passed before Christie reached the attic, he saw, as in a sorrowful picture, what life would be to him without old Treffy. He would have no home, not even the old attic; he would have no friend. No home, no friend; no home, no friend! that would be his sorrow. And only another month before it came! only another month!
It was with a dull, heavy heart that Christie opened the attic door.
"Christie, boy," said old Treffy's voice; "what did the doctor say?"
"He said you had only another month, Master Treffy," sobbed Christie, "only another month; and whatever shall I do without you?"
Treffy did not speak; it was a solemn thing to be told he had only another month to live; that in another month he must leave Christie, and the attic, and the old organ, and go—he knew not whither. It was a solemn, searching thought for old Treffy.
He spoke very little all day. Christie stayed at home, for he had not heart enough to take the organ out that sorrowful day; and he watched old Treffy very gently and mournfully. Only another month! only another month! was ringing in the ears of both.
But when the evening came on, and there was no light in the room but what came from the handful of fire in the grate, old Treffy began to talk.
"Christie," he said, uneasily, "where am I going? Where shall I be in a month, Christie?"
Christie gazed into the fire thoughtfully.