Chapter 11 - Page 2

bursting on the scene myself.

I had various thoughts. Was he awake? If not, better let him
wake naturally. Half-an-hour was a long time. Why had I not
said quarter-of-an-hour? Anon, I saw that if I was to sit there
much longer I should have said an hour, so I whistled softly; but
he took no notice. I remember trying to persuade myself that if
I never budged till Irene's return, it would be an amusing
triumph over Mary. I coughed, but still there was no response.
Abruptly, the fear smote me. Perhaps he is not there.

I rose hastily, and was striding forward, when I distinctly
noticed a covert movement somewhere near the middle of the
carriage, and heard a low gurgle, which was instantly suppressed.
I stopped dead at this sharp reminder that I was probably not the
only curious person in the room, and for a long moment we both
lay low, after which, I am glad to remember, I made the first
advance. Earlier in the day I had arranged some likely articles
on a side- table: my watch and chain, my bunch of keys, and two
war-medals for plodding merit, and with a glance at these (as
something to fall back upon), I stepped forward doggedly, looking
(I fear now) a little like a professor of legerdemain. David was
sitting up, and he immediately fixed his eyes on me.

It would ill become me to attempt to describe this dear boy to
you, for of course I know really nothing about children, so I
shall say only this, that I thought him very like what Timothy
would have been had he ever had a chance.

I to whom David had been brought for judgment, now found myself
being judged by him, and this rearrangement of the pieces seemed
so natural that I felt no surprise; I felt only a humble craving
to hear him signify that I would do. I have stood up before
other keen judges and deceived them all, but I made no effort to
deceive David; I wanted to, but dared not. Those unblinking eyes
were too new to the world to be hooded by any of its tricks. In
them I saw my true self. They opened for me that pedler's pack
of which I have made so much ado, and I found that it was
weighted less with pretty little sad love-tokens than with
ignoble thoughts and deeds and an unguided life. I looked
dejectedly at David, not so much, I think, because I had such a
sorry display for him, as because I feared he would not have me
in his service. I seemed to know that he was making up his mind
once and for all.

And in the end he smiled, perhaps only because I looked so
frightened, but the reason scarcely mattered to me, I felt myself
a fine fellow at once. It was a long smile, too, opening slowly
to its fullest extent (as if to let me in), and then as slowly
shutting.

Then, to divert me from sad thoughts, or to