him in
quite a different tone of voice to the one he used with other boys.

Jem gave Charlie the best puppy out of the curly brown spaniel lot; but
he didn't really like being with him, though he was sorry for him, and
he could not bear seeing his poor legs.

"They make me feel horrid," Jem said. "And even when they're covered
up, I know they're there."

"You're a chip of the old block, Jem," said my father, "I'd give a
guinea to a hospital any day sooner than see a patient. I'm as sorry as
can be for the poor lad, but he turns me queer, though I feel ashamed of
it. I like things _sound_. Your mother's different; she likes 'em better
for being sick and sorry, and I suppose Jack takes after her."

My father was wrong about me. Pity for Charlie was not half of the tie
between us. When he was talking, or listening to the penny numbers, I
never thought about his legs or his back, and I don't now understand how
anybody could.

He read and remembered far more than I did, and he was even wilder about
strange countries. He had as adventurous a spirit as any lad in the
school, cramped up as it was in that misshapen body. I knew he'd have
liked to go round the world as well as I, and he often laughed and
said--"What's more, Jack, if I'd the money I would. People are very kind
to poor wretches like me all over the world. I should never want a
helping hand, and the only difference between us would be, that I should
be carried on board ship by some kind-hearted blue-jacket, and you'd
have to scramble for yourself."

He was very anxious to know Isaac Irvine, and when I brought the
bee-master to see him, they seemed to hold friendly converse with their
looks even before either of them spoke. It was a bad day with Charlie,
but he set his lips against the pain, and raised himself on one arm to
stare out of his big brown eyes at the old man, who met them with as
steady a gaze out of his. Then Charlie lowered himself again, and said
in a tone of voice by which I knew he was pleased, "I'm so glad you've
come to see me, old Isaac. It's very kind of you. Jack says you know a
lot about live things, and that you like the numbers we like in the
_Penny Cyclopaedia_. I wanted to see you, for I think you and I are much
in the same boat; you're old, and I'm crippled, and we're both too poor
to travel. But Jack's to go, and when he's gone, you and I'll follow him
on the map."

"GOD willing, sir," said the bee-master; and when he said that,