"Father," in a voice which was hardly above a whisper, "it's all right. He isn't hurt a bit--not even a cold. I am so glad it is me that is hurt instead of him." "Oh, hush! hush! my darling." "You're not angry with me, father? I'm so sorry I climbed. I'll never do it again. Say you're not angry, father." "No, no my poor child--I'm not angry only so sorry to see you ill." "Am I _very_ ill? What is the matter with my head? Shall I soon be well again?" "I hope so, darling. There are some gentlemen coming to-morrow, to help you to get well very quick." "I shall be well by the Harvest Home shan't I?" "The Harvest Home? When is that?" "You promised to fix a day early next week, you know, father. Which day shall it be?" "I--I don't--quite know what day to fix, my boy." "The corn fell so fast, all day, father--it must be ready soon. Shall we say Tuesday?" No answer: only an inarticulate murmur. "Then that's settled. Shall I be well enough on Tuesday to dance 'Up the middle and down again,' with Dolly?" Rises again, all unbidden, before the father's eyes, a motionless little figure, sitting in a cripple's chair. Dance! Ought he to tell him? ought he to prepare him? who was to do it, if not he? who else was to tell him of the blight that had fallen on his young life? "You don't tell me, father. Shall I be well soon?" He _could_ not tell him. He only kissed the little hand, and murmured, "God grant you may, my child!" "I shan't be able to lie still very long. If it wasn't that I feel so tired, I should like to jump up now." "Are you very tired, Humphrey?" "Yes," with a sigh, "and my back aches, and so does my head, and feels so funny. It makes my eyes swim, and that makes me so sleepy." "Will you try to go to sleep?" "Yes," murmured the child, and his heavy eyes closed; "I shall wake up quite well to-morrow." "A good sign," whispered Sir Everard to the doctor. The doctor did not answer; and Sir Everard went up to the nursery, to see Miles. The little fellow was gazing out of the window, humming a forlorn little tune to himself. Jane, with red eyes, was sitting at work. Sir Everard took the child up in his arms "What are you doing, my little man?" "I'm so dull without Humphie. When will he come and play?" "Soon, I hope, darling." "Is Humphie going to sleep all night in the drawing-room?" "Yes--isn't that funny?" "May I go and say good-night to him?" "No; you can't go to him to-night." Miles's eyes filled with tears. "I can't go to sleep without saying good-night to Humphie." "Ah! don't cry, my child," said the poor father, beseechingly. His feelings had been on the strain so many hours; he felt he could not stand any more, and he dared not let his thoughts dwell on the subject. He tried to turn the conversation. "Tell me," he said, with a forced smile, "what was that little song you were singing to yourself when I came in?" "It was about Humpty-Dumpty," said Miles, mournfully.