ose to him. 'I thought he was yesterday, and I wanted to speak
to you. My oldest daughter thought if we could get him away to the sea,
and--'

'That's all nonsense,' said the hurried doctor; 'don't you spend your
money in that way; I tell you nothing ever will do him any good.'

This was at the bottom of the stairs; and Mr. Blunt was off. He was the
cleverest doctor for a good way round, and it was not easy to Mrs. King
to secure his attendance. Her savings and Matilda's were likely to melt
away sadly in paying him, since she was just too well off to be doctored
at the parish expense, and he was really a good and upright man, though
wanting in softness of manner when he was hurried and teased. If Mrs.
King had known that he was in haste to get to a child with a bad burn,
she might have thought him less unkind in the short ungentle way in which
he dashed her hopes. Alas! there had never been much hope; but she
feared that Alfred might have heard, and have been shocked.

Ellen heard plainly enough, and her heart sank. She tried to look at her
brother's face, but he had put it out of sight, and spoke not a word; and
she only could sit wondering what was the real drift of the cruel words,
and whether the doctor meant to give no hope of recovery, or only to
dissuade her mother from vainly trying change of air. Her once bright
brother always thus! It was a sad thought, and yet she would have been
glad to know he would be no worse; and Ellen's heart was praying with all
her might that he might have his health and happiness restored to him,
and that her mother might be spared this bitter sorrow.

Alfred said nothing about the doctor's visit, but he could eat no dinner,
and did not think this so much the fault of his sickly taste, as of his
mother's potato-pie; he could not think why she should be so cross as to
make that thing, when she knew he hated it; and as to poor Harold, Alfred
would hardly let him speak or stir, without ordering Ellen down to tell
him not to make such a row.

Ellen was thankful when Harold was fairly hunted out of the house and
garden, even though he betook himself to the meadow, where Paul
Blackthorn was lying on the grass with his feet kicking in the air, and
shewing the skin through his torn shoes. The two lads squatted down on
the grass with their heads together. Who could tell what mischief that
runaway might be putting into Harold's head, and all because Alfred could
not bear with hi