"You've forgot Pincher, grandma."
The boy would not taste food till the dog's foot had been bandaged, though, all the while his grandmother was doing up the Wound, it seemed to Horace that she must be thinking of something else, or she would pity Pincher a great deal more.
The cold dinner which she set out on the table was very tempting, and he ate heartily; but after every mouthful he kept asking, "What could be the matter? Was baby worse? Had anybody took sick?"
But his grandmother stood by the stove stirring gruel, and would answer him nothing but, "I'll let you know very soon."
She wanted the little boy to be rested and refreshed by food before she told him a very painful thing. Then she took him up stairs with her into her own chamber, which was quite shady with grape-vines, and so still that you could only hear the buzzing of two or three flies.
She had brought a bowl of hot gruel on a little waiter. She placed the waiter on the top of her washing-stand, and seated herself on the bed, drawing Horace down beside her.
"My dear little grandson," said she, stroking his bright hair, "God has been very good to you always, always. He loves you better than you can even think."
"Yes, grandma," answered Horace, bewildered.
"He is your dear Father in heaven," she added, slowly. "He wants you to love him with all your heart, for now—you have no other father!"
Horace sprang up from the bed, his eyes wild with fear and surprise, yet having no idea what she meant.