Oh, dame!' said the schoolmaster, drawing near her chair, 'is it so bad

as this?'

He's going fast,' cried the old woman; 'my grandson's dying. It's all

along of you. You shouldn't see him now, but for his being so earnest

on it. This is what his learning has brought him to. Oh dear, dear,

dear, what can I do!'

Do not say that I am in any fault,' urged the gentle school- master. 'I

am not hurt, dame. No, no. You are in great distress of mind, and

don't mean what you say. I am sure you don't.'

I do,' returned the old woman. 'I mean it all. If he hadn't been poring

over his books out of fear of you, he would have been well and merry

now, I know he would.'

The schoolmaster looked round upon the other women as if to entreat

some one among them to say a kind word for him, but they shook

their heads, and murmured to each other that they never thought

there was much good in learning, and that this convinced them.

Without saying a word in reply, or giving them a look of reproach, he

followed the old woman who had summoned him (and who had now

rejoined them) into another room, where his infant friend, half-

dressed, lay stretched upon a bed.

He was a very young boy; quite a little child. His hair still hung in

curls about his face, and his eyes were very bright; but their light was

of Heaven, not earth. The schoolmaster took a seat beside him, and

stooping over the pillow, whispered his name. The boy sprung up,

stroked his face with his hand, and threw his wasted arms round his

neck, crying out that he was his dear kind friend.

'I hope I always was. I meant to be, God knows,' said the poor

schoolmaster.

Who is that?' said the boy, seeing Nell. 'I am afraid to kiss her, lest I

should make her ill. Ask her to shake hands with me.' The sobbing

child came closer up, and took the little languid hand in hers.

Releasing his again after a time, the sick boy laid him gently down.

You remember the garden, Harry,' whispered the schoolmaster,

anxious to rouse him, for a dulness seemed gathering upon the child,

and how pleasant it used to be in the evening time? You must make

haste to visit it again, for I think the very flowers have missed you,

and are less gay than they used to be. You will come soon, my dear,

very soon now - won't you?'

The Old Curiosity Shop