ttlements made him
shiver and cower, and loud shouting play was dreadful to him. In old
times, he used to cry when Lothaire told him he must have his hair cut,
and be a priest; now, he only said quietly, he should like it very much,
if he could be good enough.

Fru Astrida sighed and shook her head, and feared the poor child would
never grow up to be anything on this earth. Great as had been the
difference at first between him and Richard, it was now far greater.
Richard was an unusually strong boy for ten years old, upright and
broad-chested, and growing very fast; while Carloman seemed to dwindle,
stooped forward from weakness, had thin pinched features, and sallow
cheeks, looking like a plant kept in the dark.

The old Baron said that hardy, healthy habits would restore the puny
children; and Lothaire improved in health, and therewith in temper; but
his little brother had not strength enough to bear the seasoning. He
pined and drooped more each day; and as the autumn came on, and the wind
was chilly, he grew worse, and was scarcely ever off the lap of the kind
Lady Astrida. It was not a settled sickness, but he grew weaker, and
wasted away. They made up a little couch for him by the fire, with the
high settle between it and the door, to keep off the draughts; and there
he used patiently to lie, hour after hour, speaking feebly, or smiling
and seeming pleased, when any one of those he loved approached. He liked
Father Lucas to come and say prayers with him; and he never failed to
have a glad look, when his dear little Duke came to talk to him, in his
cheerful voice, about his rides and his hunting and hawking adventures.
Richard's sick guest took up much of his thoughts, and he never willingly
spent many hours at a distance from him, softening his step and lowering
his voice, as he entered the hall, lest Carloman should be asleep.

"Richard, is it you?" said the little boy, as the young figure came round
the settle in the darkening twilight.

"Yes. How do you feel now, Carloman; are you better?"

"No better, thanks, dear Richard;" and the little wasted fingers were put
into his.

"Has the pain come again?"

"No; I have been lying still, musing; Richard, I shall never be better."

"Oh, do not say so! You will, indeed you will, when spring comes."

"I feel as if I should die," said the little boy; "I think I shall. But
do not grieve, Richard. I do not feel much afraid. You said it was
happier there