e child's terror, Grimm fell to soothing him.

"There, there, _jounker_," comforted Peter. "Don't let them frighten
you. Oom Peter will stand by you. You haven't done anything wrong and
nobody's going to scold you. Don't be scared."

Under the strangely gentle voice and the consoling touch of the rough,
kindly hand, Willem's fears subsided. With Oom Peter on his side, he
could brave the frowns of all Grimm Manor if need be. For who was so
strong, so wise as Oom Peter?

Did not every one bend to his orders and come running to him for advice
and aid, as troubled children seek out a loving father? The boy ceased
to tremble. He looked up into Grimm's face for something that should
confirm the words and the touch.

And he found it. The rugged old visage had never before been so kindly,
so unruffled. And in the little eyes that could flash so obstinately
and irritably, there was nothing but friendliness.

Yes--something more that the boy had never before seen. Something he
could not read, but that seemed to draw him strangely close to the old
man, and freed him of his last vestige of fear.

"Don't be scared, dear lad," repeated Grimm. "So you heard Dr. McPherson
say I am going to die?"

"Yes, sir."

Grimm turned slowly to the doctor, who still stood glowering, red,
speechless, furiously miserable.

"Andrew," asked Grimm quietly, "what did you mean?"

Before McPherson could speak, Grimm checked him with a move of the head
and glanced down at the boy.

"Never mind just now," said he. "Willem didn't mean any harm in telling
me. It just popped out, didn't it, Willem? The only person who never
says the wrong thing at the wrong time is a deaf mute whose fingers are
paralysed. We'll forget all about it. Now run along, lad, and get those
circus tickets before all the best ones are gone. Front row seats,
remember. We're going to have the finest sort of a spree, you and I.
Hurry now."

"_Ja_, Oom Peter!" cried the boy, all laughter once more.

He snatched his cap from the rack, in his haste almost upsetting Grimm's
antiquated tile that hung beside it; and, with a farewell shout, was
gone. His feet padded joyously on the gravel outside; then silence fell
again in the big room. It was Mr. Batholommey who broke the spell.
Walking solemnly up to Peter, who stood looking with a sort of stunned
wistfulness straight in front of him, the rector held out his hand.

"Good-bye, dear brave friend," he said, with an air gruesomely