"You never could do anything with me." "Never mind that now," said the parson, soothingly, but adding, with bitterness, "it was all my fault--all my fault." "It wasn't your fault," said the boy. "It was mine." A change had come over him in his treatment of the parson. Shyness had disappeared, as is apt to be the case with the sick. "I want to ask you something," he added, confidentially. "Anything--anything! Ask me anything!" "Do you remember the wax figures?" "Oh yes, I remember them very well," said the parson, quickly, uneasily. "I wanted to see 'em, and I didn't have any money, and I stole a quarter from Mr. Leuba." Despite himself a cry escaped the parson's lips, and dropping the boy's hand, he started from his chair and walked rapidly to and fro across the room, with the fangs of remorse fixed deep in his conscience. "Why didn't you come to me?" he asked at length, in a tone of helpless entreaty. "Why didn't you come to me? Oh, if you had only come to me!" "I did come to you," replied the boy. "When?" asked the parson, coming back to the bedside. "About three o'clock yesterday." About three o'clock yesterday! And what was he doing at that time? He bent his head over to his very knees, hiding his face in his hands. [Illustration: Woman sitting beside child in bed] "But why didn't you let me know it? Why didn't you come in?" "Mrs. Spurlock told me you were at work on a sermon." "God forgive me!" murmured the parson, with a groan. "I thought you'd lend me a quarter," said the boy, simply. "You took the other boys, and you told me _I_ must be certain to go. I thought you'd lend me a quarter till I could pay you back." "Oh, David!" cried the parson, getting down on his knees by the bedside, and putting his arms around the boy's neck, "I would have lent you--I would have given you--anything I have in this poor world!" The boy threw his arms around the parson's neck and clasped him close. "Forgive me!" "Oh, boy! boy! can you forgive _me_?" Sobs stifled the parson's utterance, and he went to a window on the opposite side of the room. When he turned his face inward again, he saw the boy's gaze fixed once more intently upon the violin. "There's something I want you to do for me," he said. "Mr. Leuba gave me a violin last night, and mamma says I ought to sell it and pay him back. Mamma says it will be a good lesson for me." The words seemed wrung from his heart's core. "I thought I'd ask _you_ to sell it for me. The doctor says I may be sick a long time, and it worries me." He began to grow excited, and tossed from side to side. "Don't worry," said the parson, "I'll sell it for you."