And this new boy would most likely never
go out of the close, and would be afraid of wet feet, and always getting
laughed at, and called Molly, or Jenny, or some derogatory feminine
nickname.
The matron watched him for a moment, and saw what was passing in his
mind, and so, like a wise negotiator, threw in an appeal to his warm
heart. "Poor little fellow," said she, in almost a whisper; "his
father's dead, and he's got no brothers. And his mamma--such a kind,
sweet lady--almost broke her heart at leaving him this morning; and she
said one of his sisters was like to die of decline, and so--"
"Well, well," burst in Tom, with something like a sigh at the effort,
"I suppose I must give up East.--Come along, young un. What's your name?
We'll go and have some supper, and then I'll show you our study."
"His name's George Arthur," said the matron, walking up to him with Tom,
who grasped his little delicate hand as the proper preliminary to making
a chum of him, and felt as if he could have blown him away. "I've had
his books and things put into the study, which his mamma has had new
papered, and the sofa covered, and new green-baize curtains over the
door" (the diplomatic matron threw this in, to show that the new boy was
contributing largely to the partnership comforts). "And Mrs. Arnold told
me to say," she added, "that she should like you both to come up to tea
with her.
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