o as to relieve you, boy."

"Who wants to be relieved?" cried Dyke roughly. "All I mind is not
getting on better with the work, because now I have not Jack to help. I
get on so slowly."

"I know, Dyke," said Emson sadly, as he lay there propped up on his bed.

"Hullo! What's the matter? What have I done?"

"Nothing but what is patient and persevering."

"Oh, no! don't say that," cried the boy. "I've always been a
discontented grumbler ever since I've been here, Joe. But, I say, don't
call me Dyke. It sounds as if you were getting formal with me, and as
if we were not as we used to be before you were taken bad."

"But we are, old chap. Better and more brotherly than ever. I never
knew till now how brave, and true, and manly--Ha! he's gone," sighed
Emson sadly; for Dyke had made a sudden bound, and dashed out of the
place, keeping away for fully half an hour, before he thrust in his head
once more.

"Ah, there you are," said Emson. "Come and sit down. I want to speak
to you."

"Look here, Joe," cried Dyke. "I'm baas now, and I shall do as I like.
Are you going to talk any more of that nonsense? I am going if you
are."

"I shall not talk nonsense. I only said--"

"You stop, sir. Don't you get only saiding again, for I won't have it.
It's weak, and sickly, and sentimental. Who wants to be told that he
helped his brother when he was ill? Such rot! Why, wouldn't you have
fed me and washed my face if I'd grown as stupid and weak as you?
There, shake hands. I'll forgive you this time; but if ever--
Hooray-y-y-y! He's getting some muscle in his arm again. You can feel
him grip! Why, a fortnight ago it was like shaking hands with a dead
chicken. I say, Joe, old man, you are heaps better."

"Yes, I'm getting better. I feel as if I shall live now."

"Live? Now there's a jolly old stupid. Just as if you were ever going
to feel anything else. Look here, Joe: I shall have to make an
alteration. I've been spoiling you, giving you too many good things.
And to begin with, I think I'll cut your hair."

"Isn't it short enough?" said Emson rather piteously, as he feebly
raised his hand to his temples.

"Yes, there: it looks nice and fashionable. But all down at the back
it's like Breezy's mane."

"Then you shall cut it, Dyke."

"Ah-h-h!"

"Well then, young un. But how is poor Breezy?"

"Getting wild for want of riding. I went toward her yesterday, and she
began dancing a _pas-de-deux_-l