“No, nobody sent me, Bobbin. I was just going by, and I saw the light, and I peeped in and then I saw you.”
The old man shook his head, as much as to say that he believed that the good Father had sent him, nevertheless.
“I'm glad you were the one to come,” he said, presently; “there's nobody I'd rather have had than you, Flutters. You were always a kind little chap to old Bobbin.”
Flutters did not say anything—he couldn't. He just pressed the wrinkled hand a little harder as it lay in his.
“You see, Flutters,” said Bobbin, presently, “I think I am going home to-night, and it was kind of lonely not to have somebody to care for me. Not that I mind going. I'm not a bit afraid, Flutters. I have done the best I could with the poor chance I had, and God will forgive the rest; don't you think so, Flutters?”
Flutters nodded his head, and then he said in a moment, when he thought he could control his voice: “But, Bobbin, I do not believe you are going to die. You need food and fire and clothes to warm you, and I am going right off to get them for you.”
“Oh, no, please don't,” pleaded the old man, putting what little strength he had into his hold on Flutters's hand. “I don't want food nor anything. I just want to go, and it won't be long. Promise me you'll stay till morning, Flutters.”
There was no gainsaying the entreaty in Bobbin's voice, and so Flutters said: “I promise you, Bobbin;” and, with a gratified sigh the old man turned on his side and soon fell asleep. After a while, when Flutters dared to move a little, he piled the loose straw that lay about him as closely as possible over Bobbin, and finally decided to dispense with his own warm coat, for the sake of stuffing it in the hole of the little paneless window through which the wind was keenly blowing.
Then, after another hour of motionless watching, during which Bobbin still lay sleeping as quietly as a child, it occurred to Flutters to try and make a fire in the blackened fireplace. Some old bits of board were lying in one corner of the room, and, piling them on the hearth, he easily succeeded in kindling them with a bundle of straw lighted at the candle. At first he was afraid that the crackling of the wood would waken the old man; but, undisturbed, he slept quietly on as though his mind was perfectly at rest, now that Flutters had come to care for him.
“I do not believe he is going to die,” thought Flutters, after he had again sat motionless for a long time, and then he crept close on hands and knees to look into his face, and to listen if he was breathing quite regularly; and there, bending over him, what did he see but something that made his heart bound for joy, though it was nothing but the corner of a little book showing itself above the ragged edge of one of Bobbin's pockets. And no wonder he was glad, for he knew in a moment that it was his own little Prayer-Book.