Nothing more was said by either till they reached the home. Tossing a coin to a boy who was loafing in the yard, Robert asked him to take the horse back to the stable.
They went upstairs, and Ada came from the room with eyes swollen and red, and said, “You may go in,—he will want to see you.”
As they entered, and Charlie recognized them, he called out in his old cheery tones, much weakened by suffering, “My two young friends, I’m so glad to see you! Gertie, honey, get another chair so they can both sit down. How’s my little cousin?” he continued, looking at Meg. “What’s that, what’s that? No crying, little girl. We want to be cheerful and happy here.”
Meg dried her tears and tried to smile at him. “That’s it,” he said. “That’s one reason I’ve always loved this little cousin so much,” he explained, turning his eyes toward Robert. “She’s always cheerful,—never makes a fellow feel badly.”
“Perhaps we—or at least I—would better not stay in here,” said Robert, noticing how exhausted he was.
Charlie put out his hand feebly and laid it on Robert’s—“Don’t go. I might get blue. She—” nodding toward the other room,—“has gone all to pieces, and you know I can’t bear to see her unhappy.”
He seemed at times, from then on, to lapse into unconsciousness, but whenever one of them would rise to call Ada he would rouse himself and ask them not to. “The poor girl loses control of herself when she sees me. I’ll tell you when to call her. I don’t want to make it any worse for her than is necessary.”
After a little while he said: “Robert, I don’t belong to any church, but I’m not an infidel. I’ve tried to live right. Won’t you say a little prayer for me? Not any set form, my boy, but just a prayer from your heart.”
Kneeling by the bed, Robert made a simple, touching, earnest prayer in a few sentences, a prayer which brought the quick tears again to Meg’s eyes. At its conclusion Charlie said, “Thank you,” very softly, and turned his head away for a few minutes.
When he spoke again it was lightly, to cover his emotion. “Meg, I’ve played a great joke on Ada. She thinks we are poor. We have had to economize a good deal, but there will be fifty thousand dollars life insurance for her after—well, after a while. That ought to keep her and the young one from starving, don’t you think?”