The vanity was so unconscious and childish that it ceased to be offensive.
I began to feel an interest in these boys, but most in the poor overworked mother. I had picked up, in my scrambling life, enough knowledge of medicine to judge of her case. The next morning, after consulting Matthew, I made a thorough examination into the cause of her disease. Matt waited outside. When I came out to him, his face was pale, and he bit and moistened his dry lips unceasingly.
"Well, Mr. Humphreys?"
"Your mother must leave this place. The work and the fogs from these swamps are killing her. Dry air and rest would effect a cure, I believe."
He stood paler than before, but not speaking a word.
"You think it impossible, Matthew?" I said, gently.
"Nothing is impossible."
It troubled me to see the grave, stern look on the merry face, which never had been there before. I fully explained my reasons for judging as I did, knowing him to be reasonable and acute beyond his years. I offered to do what I could, in my poor way.
"It is only due from one man to another, Matthew."
"No, this is for mother, Mr. Humphreys; I must take care of mother myself,"—standing with his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the ground.