In the early morning, Tom Madison made his appearance, in his best clothes, erect and open-faced, a strong contrast to the jaded, downcast being who had yesterday presented himself.  The stick was prepared to perfection, and Louis acknowledged it with gratitude proportioned to the fancies that he had spent on it, poising it, feeling the cool grey bark, and raising himself in bed to try how he should lean on it.  ’Hang it up there, Tom, within my reach.  It seems like a beginning of independence.’

‘I wish, my Lord,’ blurted out Tom, in agitation, ’you’d tell me if you’re to go lame for life, and then I should know the worst of it.’

‘I suspect no one knows either the worst or the best,’ said Louis, kindly.  ’Since the pain has gone off, I have been content, and asked no questions.  Mr. Walby says my ankle is going on so well, that it is a real picture, and a pleasure to touch it; and though I can’t say the pleasure is mutual, I ought to be satisfied.’

‘You’ll only laugh at me!’ half sobbed Tom, ’and if there was but anything I could do!  I’ve wished my own legs was cut off—­and serve me right—­ever since I seen you lying there.’

’Thank you; I’m afraid they would have been no use to me!  But, seriously, if I had been moderately prudent, it would not have happened.  And as it is, I hope I shall be glad of that roll in Ferny dell to the end of my life.’

‘I did go to see after mending them stones!’ cried Tom, as if injured by losing this one compensation; ’but they are all done up, and there ain’t nothing to do to them.’

’Look here, Tom:  if you want to do anything for me, it is easily told, what would be the greatest boon to me.  They tell me I’ve spoilt you, and I partly believe it, for I put more of my own fancies into you than of real good, and the way I treated you made you impatient of control:  and then, because I could not keep you on as I should have wished,—­as, unluckily, you and I were not made to live together on a desert island,—­I left you without the little help I might have given.  Now, Tom, if you go to the bad, I shall know it is all my fault—­’

‘That it ain’t,’ the boy tried to say, eagerly, but Louis went on.

’Don’t let my bad management be the ruin of you.  Take a turn from this moment.  You know Who can help you, and Who, if you had thought of Him, would have kept you straight when I forgot.  Put all the stuff out of your head about one man being equal to another.  Equal they are; but some have the trial of ruling, others of obeying, and the last are the lucky ones.  If we could only see their souls, we should know it.  You’ll find evening schools and lectures at Illershall; you’d better take to them, for you’ve more real liking for that sort of thing than for mischief; and if you finished up your education, you’d get into a line that would make you happier, and where you might do much good.  There—­promise me that you’ll think of these things, and take heed to your Sundays.’