"I told you so last evening," said Mr. Shubrick, who meanwhile was sponging Mr. Copley's face and hands again and putting him in order generally, so as a sick man's toilet might be made.
"By Jupiter!—I beg your pardon—I believe I am going to get over this, after all," said Mr. Copley "I am sure I shall, if you'll stay and help me."
"I will do it with pleasure. Now, what are you going to have for your breakfast?"
"But, look here. Why should you stay with me? I am nothing to you. Who's to pay you for it?"
"I do not come for pay; or rather, I get it as I go along. Make yourself easy, and tell me about your breakfast."
"How do you come here? I don't know you. Who does know you?"
"I have been a friend of your friends, Mr. and Mrs. Thayer, for many years."
"Humph. Ah! Well. About breakfast, I don't know what they have got for me downstairs; some lolypop or other."
"We'll do better for you than that," said Mr. Shubrick.
The morning meanwhile had come to the other inmates of the house. Dolly had left the sofa where she had spent the night, with a glad consciousness that the night was over and there had been no disturbance. Her mother had slept all the night through and was sleeping yet. What refreshment and comfort it was. What strength and rest, to think of that kind, calm, strong, resolute man in her father's room; somebody that could be depended upon. Dolly thought Christina ought to be a happy woman, with always such a hand to support her all her life long. "And he drinks no wine," thought Dolly; "that temptation will never overtake him; she will never have to be ashamed of him. He will hold her up, and not she him. She is happy."