‘What do you say, Harold?’ cried Ellen, putting her hands on the back of a chair, quite interested.  ‘You going away, Paul?’

‘Mr. Cope says so—­and I must get my living, you know,’ said Paul.

‘But not yet; you are not well enough yet,’ said the kind girl.  ’And where did you say—?’

‘To Berryton.’

’Berryton—­oh! that’s just four miles out on the other side of Elbury, where Susan Congleton went to live that was housemaid at the Grange.  She says it’s such a nice place, and such beautiful organ and singing at church!  And what did you say you were to be, Paul?’

‘I’m to help the school-master.’

‘Gracious me!’ cried Ellen.  ’Why, such a scholar as you are, you’ll be quite a gentleman yet, Paul.  Why, they school-masters get fifty or sixty pounds salaries sometimes.  I protest it’s the best thing I’ve heard this long time!  Was it Mr. Cope’s doing, or my Lady’s?’

‘Mr. Cope’s,’ said Paul, beginning to think he had been rather less grateful than he ought.

‘Ah! it is like him,’ said Ellen, ’after all the pains he has taken with you.  And you’ll not be so far off, Paul:  you’ll come to see us in the holidays, you know.’

‘To be sure he will,’ said Harold; ’or if he don’t, I shall go and fetch him.’

‘Of course he will,’ said Ellen, with her hand on Paul’s chair, and speaking low and affectionately to console him, as she saw him so downcast; ’don’t you know how poor Alfy says he’s come to be instead of a son to Mother, and a brother to us?  I must go up and tell Alf and mother.  They’ll be so pleased.’

Paul felt very differently about the plan now.  All the house congratulated him upon it, and Matilda evidently thought more of him now that she found he was to have something to do.  But such things as these were out of sight beside that which was going on in the room above.

Alfred slept better that night, and woke so much revived, that they thought him better:  and Harold, greatly comforted about him, stood tolerably quietly by his side, listening to one or two things that Alfred had longed for months past to say to him.

’Promise me, Harold dear, that you’ll be a good son to Mother:  you’ll be the only one now.’

Harold made a bend of his head like a promise.

‘O Harold, be good to her!’ went on Alfred earnestly; ’she’s had so much trouble!  I do hope God will leave you to her—­if you are steady and good.  Do, Harold!  She’s not like some, as don’t care what their lads get to.  And don’t take after me, and be idle!  Be right-down good, Harold, as Paul is; and when you come to be ill—­oh! it won’t be so bad for you as it was for me!’

‘I do want to be good,’ sighed Harold.  ’If I’d only been confirmed; but ‘twas all along of them merries last summer!’

‘And I was such a plague to you—­I drove you out,’ said Alfred.

’No, no, I was a brute to you!  Oh!  Alfy, Alfy, if I could only get back the time!’