t's voice had somehow struck a
familiar note when he first heard it. So did the father's. But there the
resemblance began and ended.

That same evening Paul went to the sick-room as usual, and inquired
after Hibbert. This time Mrs. Trounce beckoned him in.

"He's always asking after you, and it's cruel to keep you out," she
whispered.

"Who wants to keep me out?"

"Mr. Weevil thinks it makes the lad feverish, but I asked the doctor
expressly to-day, and he says it will do him good rather than harm to
see any friend he asks for. Poor little dear, he hasn't many friends.
His father didn't seem to care over much for him, and his visit was a
short one. He asked after you directly his father was gone. I've been
obliged to deny him all this time, but I can't deny him any longer. He's
dozing now. Step softly to the bed. Won't he be pleased when he wakes up
and sees you! I've never had a boy on my hands who is half so good and
patient as he is--I fear he is too patient, poor dear."

It was quite certain that during this time of trouble, Hibbert had found
one more friend in Mrs. Trounce--the kind-hearted matron, who always
tried to make the boys believe that she was a perfect virago with a
heart of flint. Paul followed her on tiptoe to the bed and looked down
on the sleeper. And as he looked, it seemed as though ice-cold fingers
were clutching him by the heart-strings, so strangely still were the
face and form of the little sleeper.

CHAPTER XXX

HIBBERT FINISHES HIS STORY

"Is he in pain?" whispered Paul, as he looked down upon the still
figure, for Hibbert's face looked strangely old and worn for one so
young, and it was as white as the pillow upon which it lay.

"I don't think so, but I've noticed, Master Percival, that he always has
that troubled look when he's sleeping, just as though he had something
on his mind," answered Mrs. Trounce.

Paul's mind went swiftly back to the last time he was in that room--to
the confession Hibbert had begun and left unfinished. Was it that which
was troubling him?

"Does he sleep well?"

"Not always like he's sleeping now. Often and often I've heard him
calling you in his sleep, as I told you just now. I'm good enough for
shaking up his pillow, giving him medicine, and that sort of thing, but
I've found out that boys are strange critters to deal with. They want a
lot of knowing, Master Percival, but I know 'em, and what Master Hibbert
wants sometimes is one of his ow