'And you do not grieve over your year of illness?'

'I would not have been without it--no,' said Alfred, very quietly, but
with much meaning.

'"It is good for me that I have been in trouble," is what you mean,' said
Mr. Cope.

'It has made our Saviour seem--I mean--He is so good to me,' said Alfred
fervently.

But talking made him cough, and that brought a line in the fair forehead
so full of peace. Mr. Cope would not say more to him, and asked his
mother whether the Feast, for which he had so much longed, should be on
the following day. She thought it best that it should be so; and Alfred
again said, 'Thank you, Sir,' with the serene expression on his face. Mr.
Cope read a Psalm and a prayer to him, and thinking him equal to no more,
went away, pausing, however, for a little talk with Paul in the shop.

Paul did not say so, but, poor fellow, he had been rather at a loss since
Matilda had come. In herself, she was a very good, humble, sensible
girl; but she wore a dark silk dress, and looked, moved, and spoke much
more like a lady than Ellen: Paul stood in great awe of her, and her
presence seemed all at once to set him aloof from the others.

He had been like one of themselves for the last three months, now he felt
that he was like a beggar among them; he did not like to call Mrs. King
mother, lest it should seem presuming; Ellen seemed to be raised up the
same step as her sister, and even Alfred was almost out of his reach;
Matilda read to him, and Paul's own good feeling shewed him that he would
be only in the way if he spent all his time in Alfred's room as formerly;
so he kept down-stairs in the morning, and went to bed very early. Nobody
was in the least unkind to him: but he had just begun to grieve at being
a burden so long, and to wonder how much longer he should be in getting
his health again. And then it might be only to be cast about the world,
and to lose his one glimpse of home kindness. Poor boy! he still cried
at the thought of how happy Alfred was.

He did all he could to be useful, but he could scarcely manage to stoop
down, could carry nothing heavy, and moved very slowly; and he now and
then made a dreadful muddle in the shop, when a customer was not like
Mrs. Hayward, who told him where everything was, and the price of all she
wanted, as well as Mrs. King could do herself. He could sort the letters
and see to the post-office very well; and for all his blunders, he did so
much by hi