"Why, young un, what's the matter?" said he kindly; "you ain't unhappy,
are you?"
"Oh no, Brown," said the little boy, looking up with the great tears in
his eyes; "you are so kind to me, I'm very happy."
"Why don't you call me Tom? Lots of boys do that I don't like half so
much as you. What are you reading, then? Hang it! you must come about
with me, and not mope yourself." And Tom cast down his eyes on the book,
and saw it was the Bible. He was silent for a minute, and thought to
himself, "Lesson Number 2, Tom Brown;" and then said gently, "I'm very
glad to see this, Arthur, and ashamed that I don't read the Bible more
myself. Do you read it every night before supper while I'm out?"
"Yes."
"Well, I wish you'd wait till afterwards, and then we'd read together.
But, Arthur, why does it make you cry?"
"Oh, it isn't that I'm unhappy. But at home, while my father was alive,
we always read the lessons after tea; and I love to read them over now,
and try to remember what he said about them. I can't remember all and I
think I scarcely understand a great deal of what I do remember. But
it all comes back to me so fresh that I can't help crying sometimes to
think I shall never read them again with him."
Arthur had never spoken of his home before, and Tom hadn't encouraged
him to do so, as his blundering schoolboy reasoning made him think that
Arthur would be softened and less manly for thinking of home.
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