Fortunately for Hughie, his father was not at home. But not Thomas's earnest entreaties nor Hughie's eager pleading would have availed with the mother, for attendance at school was a sacred duty in her eyes, had it not been that her boy's face, paler than usual, and with the dawning of a new defiance in it, startled her, and confirmed in her the fear that all was not well with him.
“Well, Thomas, he may go with you to the Cameron's for the potatoes, but as to going with you to the planting, that is another thing. Your mother is not fit to be troubled with another boy, and especially a boy like Hughie. And how is she to-day, Thomas?” continued Mrs. Murray, as Thomas stood in dull silence before her.
“She's better,” said Thomas, answering more quickly than usual, and with a certain eagerness in his voice. “She's a great deal better, and Hughie will do her no harm, but good.”
Mrs. Murray looked at Thomas as he spoke, wondering at the change in his voice and manner. The heavy, stolid face had changed since she had last seen it. It was finer, keener, than before. The eyes, so often dull, were lighted up with a new, strange fire.
“She's much better,” said Thomas again, as if insisting against Mrs. Murray's unbelief.
“I am glad to hear it, Thomas,” she said, gently. “She will soon be quite well again, I hope, for she has had a long, long time of suffering.”
“Yes, a long, long time,” replied Thomas. His face was pale, and in his eyes was a look of pain, almost of fear.
“And you will come to see her soon?” he added. There was almost a piteous entreaty in his tone.
“Yes, Thomas, surely next week. And meantime, I shall let Hughie go with you.”
A look of such utter devotion poured itself into Thomas's eyes that Mrs. Murray was greatly moved, and putting her hand on his shoulder, she said, gently, “'He will give His angels charge.' Don't be afraid, Thomas.”