George’s answer was a half-suppressed sigh.
“You look glumpish,” said the old gentleman, fixing the eye which did not squint on the boy. “You don’t wish to go with me, eh?”—the cracked voice had impatience in its tone.
“I wish to do—whatever is best for my parents.”
“But you don’t like going, eh?” said Mr. Hardcastle, resting his bony hands on his knees, and leaning forward with a look of peevish irritability.
“I cannot like—leaving my home for another,” answered George gravely; “but I am ready to do it—I do not complain.”
Mr. Hardcastle continued his sharp scrutiny of the boy’s countenance, as if he would read him through and through. There was a painful moment of silence—it was broken by little Eddy.
“You shan’t take away George,” said he, going close to the old man, and looking earnestly up into his face.
“I shan’t! shall I not? and why not, my little man?” said Mr. Hardcastle, lifting the child on his knee.
“Because—because—Georgie must not be sent far away like the compass, but stay here at home like the needle.”
“Like what?” exclaimed Mr. Hardcastle, laughing.
“It’s a story Georgie told us,” said the child, pulling the buttons on the coat of the old gentleman.
“Let’s hear his story, by all means, my dear.”
Poor Eddy looked exceedingly puzzled, for he had very little command of language, and did not know how to put his thoughts into words. At last he said, “Georgie told it to make us good, and busy, and kind, and a comfort to papa and mamma.”
“Ah! that must have been a capital story; I should like to hear you tell me all about it.”
“Eddy,” said his father, “how can you plague Mr. Hardcastle with your nonsense?”
“I beg your pardon, he does not plague me at all. It amuses me to hear what the little fellow has to say. So out with your improving story, Master Eddy!”
Poor Eddy turned round and looked at his brother; but George seemed disposed to render him no assistance. He glanced at Lily—she would not utter a word. He was left to his own resources.
“Well, once upon a time,” he began, but stopped short. “I can’t tell a story,” said the child; “it is too hard—I can only remember a bit of the fairy’s pretty song.”
“A little is better than nothing,” cried the old gentleman, much amused at the perplexed look of the child. “Let’s hear what the fairy sang.”