"Not much, my dear," returned the schoolmaster. "I
hoped to have seen him on the green to-night. He was
always foremost among them. But he'll be there to-
morrow."

"Has he been ill?" asked the child, with a child's quick
sympathy.

"Not very. They said he was wandering in his head
yesterday, dear boy, and so they said the day before. But
that's a part of that kind of disorder; it's not a bad sign--
not at all a bad sign."

The child was silent. He walked to the door, and looked
wistfully out. The shadows of night were gathering, and
all was still.

"If he could lean upon anybody's arm, he would come to
me, I know," he said, returning into the room. "He
always came into the garden to say good night. But per-
haps his illness has only just taken a favourable turn, and
it's too late for him to come out, for it's very damp and
there's a heavy dew. It's much better he shouldn't come
to-night."

The schoolmaster lighted a candle, fastened the window-
shutter, and closed the door. But after he had done this,
and sat silent a little time, he took down his hat, and said
he would go and satisfy himself, if Nell would sit up till he
returned. The child readily complied, and he went out.

She sat there half an hour or more, feeling the place very
strange and lonely, for she had prevailed upon the old man
to go to bed, and there was nothing to be heard but the
ticking of an old clock, and the whistling of the wind
among the trees. When he returned, he took his seat in
the chimney-corner, but remained silent for a long time.
At length he turned to her, and speaking very gently, hoped
she would say a prayer that night for a sick child.

"My favourite scholar!" said the poor schoolmaster,
smoking a pipe he had forgotten to light, and looking
mournfully round about the walls. "It is a little hand to
have done all that, and waste away with sickness. It is a
very, very little hand!"

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