But," said the boy slowly, "there is nothing to eat." With a mighty oath French sprang to his feet.
"Do you tell me you are hungry, boy ?" he roared.
"I could not find much," said Kalman, his lip trembling in spite of himself.
"What are you standing there for, Mackenzie ?" roared French.
"Confound you for a drunken dog! Confound us both for two drunken fools! Get something to eat!" There was something so terrible in his look and in his voice that Mackenzie fairly ran to obey his order.

Kalman stood before his master pale and shaking.

He was weak from lack of food, but more from anxiety and grief.
"I did the best I could," he said, struggling manfully to keep his voice steady, "and--I am--awful glad--you're--better." His command was all gone.

He threw himself upon the grass while sobs shook his frame.
French stood a moment looking down upon him, his face revealing thoughts and feelings none too pleasant.
"Kalman, you're a good sort," he said in a hoarse voice.

"You're a man, by Jove! and," in an undertone, "I'm hanged, if I don't think you'll make a man of me yet." Then kneeling by his side, he raised him in his arms.