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 boy smiled faintly--so very, very faintly--and put his hand upon his friend's grey head.