was over, was that affectionate kindness, which, in every
little gesture and word, Aunt Mary had redoubled to her ever since the
accident.

Fred was all this time lying on his sofa, very glad to rest after so
much talking: weak, dizzy, and languid, and throwing all the blame of
his uncomfortable sensations on Philip Carey and the starvation system,
but still, perhaps, not without thoughts of a less discontented nature,
for when Mr. Geoffrey Langford came to help him to bed, he said, as
he watched the various arrangements his uncle was for the last time
sedulously making for his comfort, "Uncle Geoffrey, I ought to thank you
very much; I am afraid I have been a great plague to you."

Perhaps Fred did not say this in all sincerity, for any one but Uncle
Geoffrey would have completely disowned the plaguing, and he fully
expected him to do so; but his uncle had a stern regard for truth,
coupled with a courtesy which left it no more harshness than was
salutary.

"Anything for your good, my dear sir," said he, with a smile. "You are
welcome to plague me as much as you like, only remember that your mamma
is not quite so tough."

"Well, I do try to be considerate about her," said Fred. "I mean to make
her rest as much as possible; Henrietta and I have been settling how to
save her."

"You could save her more than all, Fred, if you would spare her
discussions."

Fred held his tongue, for though his memory was rather cloudy about the
early part of his illness, he did remember having seen her look greatly
harassed one day lately when he had been arguing against Philip Carey.

Uncle Geoffrey proceeded to gather up some of the outlines which
Henrietta had left on the sofa. "I like those very much," said Fred,
"especially the Fight with the Dragon."

"You know Schiller's poem on it?" said Uncle Geoffrey.

"Yes, Henrietta has it in German."

"Well, it is what I should especially recommend to your consideration."

"I am afraid it will be long enough before I am able to go out on a
dragon-killing expedition," said Fred, with a weary helpless sigh.

"Fight the dragon at home, then, Freddy. Now is the time for--

'The duty hardest to fulfil,
To learn to yield our own self-will.'"

"There is very little hasty pudding in the case," said Fred, rather
disconsolately, and at the same time rather drolly, and with a sort of
resolution of this kind, "I will try then, I will not bother mamma, let
that Carey serve me