OLIVER’S ailings were neither slight nor few. In addition to the pain and delay attendant upon a broken limb, his exposure to the wet and cold had brought on fever and ague, which hung about him for many weeks, and reduced him sadly. But at length he began, by slow degrees, to get better, and to be able to say sometimes, in a few tearful words, how deeply he felt the goodness of the two sweet ladies, and how ardently he hoped that, when he grew strong and well again, he could do something to shew his gratitude; only something which would let them see the love and duty with which his breast was full; something, however slight, which would prove to them that their gentle kindness had not been cast away, but that the poor boy whom their charity had rescued from misery, or death, was eager and anxious to serve them with all his heart and soul. “Poor fellow!” said Rose, when Oliver had been one day feebly endeavouring to utter the words of thankfulness that rose to his pale lips,—“you shall have many opportunities of serving us, if you will. We are going into the country, and my aunt intends that you shall accompany us. The quiet place, the pure air, and all the pleasures and beauties of spring, will restore you in a few days, and we will employ you in a hundred ways when you can bear the trouble.” “The trouble!” cried Oliver. “Oh! dear lady, if I could but work for you—if I could only give you pleasure by watering your flowers, or watching your birds, or running up and down the whole day long to make you happy, what would I give to do it?” “You shall give nothing at all,” said Miss Maylie, smiling; “for, as I told you before, we shall employ you in a hundred ways; and if you only take half the trouble to please us that you promise now, you will make me very happy indeed.” “Happy, ma’am!” cried Oliver; “oh, how kind of you to say so!” “You will make me happier than I can tell you,” replied the young lady. “To think that my dear good aunt should have been the means of rescuing any one from such sad misery as you have described to us, would be an unspeakable pleasure to me; but to know that the object of her goodness and compassion was sincerely grateful, and attached in consequence, would delight me more than you can well imagine. Do you understand me?” she inquired, watching Oliver’s thoughtful face. “Oh yes, ma’am, yes!” replied Oliver, eagerly; “but I was thinking that I am ungrateful now.” “To whom?” inquired the young lady. “To the kind gentleman and the dear old nurse who took so much care of me before,” rejoined Oliver. “If they knew how happy I am, they would be pleased, I am sure.” “I am sure they would,” rejoined Oliver’s benefactress; “and Mr. Losberne has already been kind enough to promise that, when you are well enough to bear the journey, he will carry you to see them.” “Has he, ma’am?” cried Oliver, his face brightening with pleasure. “I don’t know what I shall do for joy when I see their kind faces once again!”