One day, Sir William Leavett, the parish priest, came in to see him. Jack had been rather better for a day or two, and had managed, with his father's help, to creep down into the sunny shop, where he sat or rather reclined in his father's armchair, pleased with the change from his dull chamber and languidly amused by the bustle in the street and the people coming and going; for it was a market-day, and Bridge Street was unusually thronged. "Why, this is well, my son," said the priest, kindly. "I am glad to see you down-stairs. Nay, sit still," he added, as Jack would have risen from his seat. "I will take the will for the deed." So saying, he drew up a stool and sat down by the side of the sick boy. He was a kindly-looking middle-aged man, with iron-gray hair, and a face full of benevolence, but sad and somewhat puzzled in its expression. He took Jack's hand, felt its pulse, and questioned him as to his feelings. "You have no pain, you say?" "No father, at least very little," replied Jack. "I seem to be tired all the time. If I could only be rested, I should feel well." "You are overwrought, my son. You worked too hard for the medal, I fear." "I did not know how hard I was working, not till afterwards," said Jack. "No one was more surprised at my getting it than I was. I never thought it possible." "So much the better, so much the better, my son!" said the priest. "You worked for the learning, which was its own reward, and which will last you, it may be, when this same bit of gold is rust and dust." "Shall we then carry our learning with us into other world?" asked Jack, abruptly. The priest smiled. "Who can tell that, my on? Yet it may be so. That which we truly earn becomes, as it were, amalgamated with our minds and a part of them, even as the food we eat becomes a part of our bodies. Have you not found it so?" "Indeed I have, father," said Jack. "I cannot forget, if I would." "Well, then, since our minds and souls are immortal, why should not this same learning, which has become a part of them, be immortal too? But these are deep themes, far beyond the reach of us mortals. This much I think we may rest assured of, that we shall forget nothing which it is profitable for us to remember. Master Lucas, good-day to you," as the baker entered the shop. "I am glad to see our young scholar better and able to be down-stairs." "He is not much to boast of yet, poor child!" replied Master Lucas sadly. "I would give all his school learning to see his cheeks as round and rosy as yonder shepherd lad's. Nothing can make up for the want of health." "Ay, ay!" said the priest musingly, looking over Jack's head into the street. "And speaking of shepherds, Master Lucas, why do you not send this lad out into the fields to try what country air and country fare can do for him? They work wonders sometimes. Has he no relations or friends to whose care you could commit him for the summer?"