’But you aren’t going to die, Alf.  Charlie never was like you, I know he wasn’t; he was always coughing.  It is all Ellen.  Who said it?  I won’t let them.’

‘The doctor said it to Betsey Hardman,’ said Alfred; and his cough was only too like his brother’s.

Harold would have said a great deal in contempt of Betsey Hardman, but Alfred did not let him.

‘You’ll wake Mother,’ he said.  ’Hush, Harold, don’t go stamping about; I can’t bear it!  No, I don’t want any one to tell me now; I’ve been getting worse ever since I was taken, and—­oh! be quiet, Harold.’

‘I can’t be quiet,’ sobbed Harold, coming nearer to him.  ’O Alf!  I can’t spare you!  There hasn’t been no proper downright fun without you, and—­’

Harold had lain down by him and clung to his hand, trying not to sob aloud.

‘O Harold!’ sighed Alfred, ’I don’t think I should mind—­at least not so much—­if I hadn’t been such a bad boy.’

‘You, Alfy!  Who was ever a good boy if you was not?’

’Hush!  You forget all about when I was up at my Lady’s, and all that.  Oh! and how bad I behaved at church, and when I was so saucy to Master about the marbles; and so often I’ve not minded Mother.  O Harold! and God judges one for everything!’

What a sad terrified voice it was!

’Oh! don’t go on so, Alf!  I can’t bear it!  Why, we are but boys; and those things were so long ago!  God will not be hard on little boys.  He is merciful, don’t you know?’

‘But when I knew it was wrong, I did the worst I could!’ said Alfred.  ’Oh, if I could only begin all over again, now I do care!  Only, Harold, Harold, you are well; you can be good now when there’s time.’

‘I’ll be ever so good if you’ll only get well,’ said Harold.  ’I wouldn’t have gone to that there place to-night; but ’tis so terribly dull, and one must do something.’

‘But in church-time, and on Sunday!’

’Well, I’ll never do it again; but it was so sunshiny, and they were all making such fun, you see, and it did seem so stuffy, and so long and tiresome, I couldn’t help it, you see.’

Alfred did not think of asking how, if Harold could not help it this time, he could be sure of never doing so again.  He was more inclined to dwell on himself, and went back to that one sentence, ’God judges us for everything.’  Harold thought he meant it for him, and exclaimed,

’Yes, yes, I know, but—­oh, Alf, you shouldn’t frighten one so; I never meant no harm.’

‘I wasn’t thinking about that,’ sighed Alfred.  ’I was wishing I’d been a better lad; but I’ve been worse, and crosser, and more unkind, ever since I was ill.  O Harold! what shall I do?’

‘Don’t go on that way,’ said Harold, crying bitterly.  ’Say your prayers, and maybe you will get well; and then in the morning I’ll ask Mr. Cope to come down, and he’ll tell you not to mind.’