Fred was all this time lying on his sofa, very glad to rest after so much talking: weak, dizzy, and languid, and throwing all the blame of his uncomfortable sensations on Philip Carey and the starvation system, but still, perhaps, not without thoughts of a less discontented nature, for when Mr. Geoffrey Langford came to help him to bed, he said, as he watched the various arrangements his uncle was for the last time sedulously making for his comfort, “Uncle Geoffrey, I ought to thank you very much; I am afraid I have been a great plague to you.” Perhaps Fred did not say this in all sincerity, for any one but Uncle Geoffrey would have completely disowned the plaguing, and he fully expected him to do so; but his uncle had a stern regard for truth, coupled with a courtesy which left it no more harshness than was salutary. “Anything for your good, my dear sir,” said he, with a smile. “You are welcome to plague me as much as you like, only remember that your mamma is not quite so tough.” “Well, I do try to be considerate about her,” said Fred. “I mean to make her rest as much as possible; Henrietta and I have been settling how to save her.” “You could save her more than all, Fred, if you would spare her discussions.” Fred held his tongue, for though his memory was rather cloudy about the early part of his illness, he did remember having seen her look greatly harassed one day lately when he had been arguing against Philip Carey. Uncle Geoffrey proceeded to gather up some of the outlines which Henrietta had left on the sofa. “I like those very much,” said Fred, “especially the Fight with the Dragon.” “You know Schiller’s poem on it?” said Uncle Geoffrey. “Yes, Henrietta has it in German.” “Well, it is what I should especially recommend to your consideration.” “I am afraid it will be long enough before I am able to go out on a dragon-killing expedition,” said Fred, with a weary helpless sigh. “Fight the dragon at home, then, Freddy. Now is the time for-- ‘The duty hardest to fulfil, To learn to yield our own self-will.’” “There is very little hasty pudding in the case,” said Fred, rather disconsolately, and at the same time rather drolly, and with a sort of resolution of this kind, “I will try then, I will not bother mamma, let that Carey serve me as he may. I will not make a fuss, if I can help it, unless he is very unreasonable indeed, and when I get well I will submit to be coddled in an exemplary manner; I only wonder when I shall feel up to anything again! O! what a nuisance it is to have this swimming head and aching knees, all by the fault of that Carey!”