eless, Mr. Holdsworth could not understand how even Fitzjocelyn
could have given the lad a recommendation, and he would have
remonstrated, but that the long interview had already been sufficiently
trying; so he did his best to have faith in his eccentric friend's good
intentions.

In the early morning, Tom Madison made his appearance, in his best
clothes, erect and open-faced, a strong contrast to the jaded, downcast
being who had yesterday presented himself. The stick was prepared to
perfection, and Louis acknowledged it with gratitude proportioned to
the fancies that he had spent on it, poising it, feeling the cool grey
bark, and raising himself in bed to try how he should lean on it.
'Hang it up there, Tom, within my reach. It seems like a beginning of
independence.'

'I wish, my Lord,' blurted out Tom, in agitation, 'you'd tell me if
you're to go lame for life, and then I should know the worst of it.'

'I suspect no one knows either the worst or the best,' said Louis,
kindly. 'Since the pain has gone off, I have been content, and asked
no questions. Mr. Walby says my ankle is going on so well, that it is
a real picture, and a pleasure to touch it; and though I can't say the
pleasure is mutual, I ought to be satisfied.'

'You'll only laugh at me!' half sobbed Tom, 'and if there was but
anything I could do! I've wished my own legs was cut off--and serve me
right--ever since I seen you lying there.'

'Thank you; I'm afraid they would have been no use to me! But,
seriously, if I had been moderately prudent, it would not have
happened. And as it is, I hope I shall be glad of that roll in Ferny
dell to the end of my life.'

'I did go to see after mending them stones!' cried Tom, as if injured
by losing this one compensation; 'but they are all done up, and there
ain't nothing to do to them.'

'Look here, Tom: if you want to do anything for me, it is easily told,
what would be the greatest boon to me. They tell me I've spoilt you,
and I partly believe it, for I put more of my own fancies into you than
of real good, and the way I treated you made you impatient of control:
and then, because I could not keep you on as I should have wished,--as,
unluckily, you and I were not made to live together on a desert
island,--I left you without the little help I might have given. Now,
Tom, if you go to the bad, I shall know it is all my fault--'

'That it ain't,' the boy tried to say, eagerly, but Louis went on.

'Do