Joe’s uncle and aunt wrote him a kind letter, quite agreed in Mr. Parker’s opinion that a journey into Lincolnshire was, in the state of his back and general health, out of the question, were fully satisfied that he was under the best care, both medical and magisterial, (they had never seen either doctor or master, and had only known of Mr. Barton through an advertisement,) and sent him a handsome present of pocket money, with the information that they were going to the South of France for the winter.  Joe bore the news of their departure very coolly, and carelessly pocketed the money, knowing as he did that he had a handsome property in his uncle’s hands, and no one would have supposed from any exhibition of feeling that he manifested, that he had any feeling or any care about the matter.  Once, indeed, when a fly came to the door to convey Harcourt to the railway, and he saw from the window of his room the happy school-boy jumping with glee into the vehicle, and heard him say to Mr. Barton, “Oh yes, Sir, I shall be met!” he turned to Fred who sate by him and said, “No one is expecting me, no one in the whole world is thinking of me now, Parker.”

Fred told his mother of this speech, a speech so full of bitter truth that it made Mrs. Parker, kind creature as she was, shed tears, and she asked her husband if young White could not be removed to pass the Christmas holidays with them.  The distance was not great, and they could borrow Mr. Darford’s carriage, and perhaps it might do him good.  Mr. Parker agreed, and the removal was effected.

For some days it seemed doubtful whether the change would be either for poor White’s mental happiness or bodily improvement.  The exertion, and the motion and excitement together, wrought powerfully on his nervous frame, and he was more distressed, and irritable than ever.  He could not sleep, he ate scarcely any thing, he rarely spoke, and more than once Mrs. Parker regretted that the proposal had been made.  In vain Edith brought him plants from the little greenhouse, fine camellias, pots of snow-drops, and lovely anemones.  They seemed rather to awaken painful than pleasing remembrances and associations, and once even when he had lain long looking at a white camellia he burst into tears.  It is a great trial of temper, a great test of the sincerity of our purpose, when the means we use to please and gratify seem to have just the contrary effect.  In the sick room especially, where kind acts, and gentle words, and patient forbearance are so constantly demanded, it is difficult to refrain from expressions of disappointment when all our endeavours fail; when those we wish to please and comfort, obstinately refuse to be pleased and comforted.  Often did Fred and Edith hold counsel as to what would give Joe pleasure, but he was as reserved and gloomy as ever, and his heart seemed inaccessible to kindness and affection.  Besides, there were continual subjects of annoyance which they could scarcely prevent, with all the forethought and care in the world.