“No, I was in a very bad humor, and talking to you and poor old Betty has set me right, I think. But you said hers was a special case. It must be very sad work in general.”
“Only when one sees people in great pain, or when they are wicked, and quarreling, or complaining about nothing; then I do get very low sometimes. But even then it is much better than keeping to one's self. Anything is better than thinking of one's self, and one's own troubles.”
“I dare say you are right,” said Tom, recalling his morning's meditations, “especially when one's troubles are homemade. Look, here's an old fellow who gave me a lecture on that subject before I saw you this morning, and took me for the apothecary's boy.”
They were almost opposite David's door, at which he stood with a piece of work in his hand. He had seen Miss Winter from his look-out window, and had descended from his board in hopes of hearing news.
Katie returned his respectful and anxious salute, and said, “She is no worse, David. We left her quite out of pain and very quiet.”
“Ah, 'tis to be hoped as she'll hev a peaceful time on't now, poor soul,” said David; “I've a been to Farmer Groves', and I hope as he'll do summat about Harry.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” said Miss Winter, “and my cousin here, who knew Harry very well when they were little boys together, has promised to help him. This is Harry's best friend,” she said to Tom, “who has done more than anyone to keep him right.”
David seemed a little embarrassed, and began jerking his head about when his acquaintance of the morning, whom he had scarcely noticed before, was introduced by Miss Winter as “my cousin.”
“I wish to do all I can for him,” said Tom, “and I'm very glad to have made your acquaintance. You must let me know whenever I can help;” and he took out a card and handed it to David, who looked at it, and then said,—
“And I be to write to you, sir, then, if Harry gets into trouble?”