death about him, and
the sight of it distressing him--Noll should grow sick at heart? The
gloom of the old stone house and the desolateness of his new home,
when compared with the one which he had left, had, at first, been all
that his fresh young spirits could bear; and, having grown to like his
new abode in a measure, he found, even then, that it would not do to
remember Hastings and his friends too often; and now, in these dreary
days, the boy began to grow less cheerful and to feel an unconquerable
desire to go back to those who loved him and whose homes knew nothing
of dreariness or gloom. This longing for friends he kept bravely to
himself, because he thought it was a part of his work--the work which
it seemed to him was God's--to be as brave and cheerful as possible
before Uncle Richard, and win him out of his gloom and moroseness. So
this yearning and desire for brighter scenes and faces was kept a
secret, and Trafford suspected nothing of it. His keen eyes, however,
detected that Noll was graver and less talkative than usual, and he
began to look about for a reason. Some dim knowledge of the sickness
and death in the village had crept in to him through Noll's and
Hagar's talk, and a sudden fear chilled him lest his nephew, too, was
to be stricken down with the lingering fever. What if it should be so?
What if even now the boy was oppressed with the languor and depression
which precedes illness? With this thought torturing him, he called to
Noll one afternoon from the library window, as the boy was idly
walking up and down the frozen sand. After a few minutes of waiting,
Noll made his appearance at the library door, looking a little
surprised, perhaps, at this unusual summons. Trafford bade him come up
to his chair, and Noll obeyed.

"Where were you all the forenoon?" questioned the uncle. "I saw you
but once after breakfast."

Noll looked as if he had much rather refrain from answering, but said,
after a few seconds of hesitation, "Over at Culm, Uncle Richard."

"At Culm!" exclaimed Trafford, sternly. "Isn't the fever raging
there?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you have been exposing yourself? Speak, Noll!"

"Why--yes--I suppose so, Uncle Richard. I was in the room where Hark
Darby's little boy was sick."

Trafford stamped upon the floor with impatience. "What were you there
for?" he cried.

"To carry something that Hagar made for it to drink. There's no
doctor, you know; and they're terribly