The boy kicked at the carpet with his foot; he gazed out at a neighboring window; gazed everywhere save into the watchful eyes of the speaker.
At length, when the baronet had finished what he had to say, Master Matthew grunted out a dubious—“Yes—I s’pose so”—and speedily thereafter sought his trap.
After this the baronet called his little daughter to his bedside; and when he had kissed her he fancied that he saw a cloud on her open brow and a look of disappointment in her bright eyes.
“What is the matter with my darling?” he asked, drawing her head down upon his pillow.
And pretty soon it came out. Percy had promised her that he would come up that afternoon and help her in her lessons.
Practically he had become her teacher, and she looked forward to his coming with so much of eagerness that failure on his part became to her a bitter disappointment.
“Well, well, little pet, do not worry. He may come yet.”
“No, no, papa, he cannot come. His papa is sick, and is dying! Oh! think of it! He will never have a papa any more. Dear papa! you won’t die, will you? Oh, tell me that you will not!”
A convulsion shook the dying man from head to foot. He had spoken to his child of death, had sought to accustom her to the thought; but not yet had he told her that he was surely leaving her.
He could not do it now—could not tell her that he was dying; but he told her she must be brave and strong; and she must remember that, even though he should be taken from her, she would have her dear grandpa left, who would love her always.