"'No, oh no,' said Jack. 'He--he died the year after you knew him.'
"Sawyer's eyes looked up wistfully in Jack's face. 'Dead?' he said. 'That dear boy?'
"'Yes,' Jack went on. 'It was of scarlet fever. It was very bad at Ryeburn that half. We both had it, but I was soon well again. It was not till Carlo was ill that he told me of having run over to wish you good-bye that morning--he had been afraid I would laugh at him for being soft-hearted--what a young brute I was--forgive my speaking so, Sawyer, but I can't look back to that time without shame. What a life we led you, and how you bore it! You were too good for us.'
"Sawyer smiled. 'No,' he said. 'I cannot see it that way. I had not the knack of it--I was not fit for the position. The boys were very good boys, as boys go. It would have been inexcusable of me to have made them suffer for what, after all, was an unfortunate circumstance only. I had attempted what I could not manage. And Carlo--he is dead--somehow, perhaps because I am so near death myself, it does not shock or startle me. Dear little fellow that he was!'
"'And while he was ill he was constantly talking about you. It seemed the only thing on his conscience, poor little chap, that he had joined at all in our treatment of you. And he begged me--I would have promised him anything, but by that time I saw it plainly enough for myself--to try to find you and ask you to forgive us both. But I little thought it would have been like this--I had fancied sometimes----' Jack hesitated, and the colour deepened in his sunburnt cheeks.
"'What?' said Mr. Sawyer. 'Do not be afraid of my misunderstanding anything you say.'
"'I had hoped perhaps that if I found you again I might be able to be of some use to you. And now it is too late. For you see we owe you some reparation for indirectly forcing you to leave Ryeburn--you might have risen there--who knows? I can see now what a capital teacher you were.'
"'I know I could teach,' he said, 'but that was all. I did not understand boys' ways. I never was a boy myself. But put all this out of your mind, Berkeley, for ever. In spite of all the disappointment, I was very happy at Ryeburn. The living among so many healthy-minded happy human beings was a new and pleasant experience to me. Short as it was, no part of my life has left a pleasanter remembrance. You say you would like to do something for me. Will you write to my mother after I am gone, and tell her? Tell her how little I suffered, and how good every one was to me, a perfect stranger. Will you do this?'