Yussuf the Guide | Page 5

to take more medicine,
and things that she says will do me good, and I do get so tired of
everything. How is the book getting on, sir?"
"Oh, very slowly, my lad," said the professor, with more animation. "I
was going abroad to travel and study the places about which I am
writing, but--"
"When do you go?" cried the lad eagerly.
"I was going within a few days, but--"
"Whereto?"
"Smyrna first, and then to the south coast of Asia Minor, and from
thence up into the mountains."
"Is it a beautiful country, Mr Preston?"
"Yes; a very wild and lovely country, I believe."

"With mountains and valleys and flowers?"
"Oh, yes, a glorious place."
"And when are you going?"
"I was going within a few days, my boy," said the professor kindly;
"but--"
"Is it warm and sunshiny there, sir?"
"Very."
"In winter?"
"Oh, yes, in the valleys; in the mountains there is eternal snow."
"But it is warm in the winter?"
"Oh, yes; the climate is glorious, my lad."
"And here, before long, the leaves will fall from that plane-tree in the
corner of the square, that one whose top you can just see; and it will get
colder, and the nights long, and the gas always burning in the lamps,
and shining dimly through the blinds; and then the fog will fill the
streets, and creep in through the cracks of the window; and the blacks
will fall and come in upon my book, and it will be so bitterly cold, and
that dreadful cough will begin again. Oh, dear!"
There was silence in the room as the lad finished with a weary sigh;
and though it was a bright morning in September, each of the elder
personages seemed to conjure up the scenes the invalid portrayed, and
thought of him lying back there in the desolate London winter,
miserable in spirit, and ill at ease from his complaint.
Then three of the four present started, for the lawyer blew a challenge
on his trumpet.
"There is no better climate anywhere, sir," he said, addressing the

professor, "and no more healthy spot than London."
"Bless the man!" ejaculated Mrs Dunn.
"I beg to differ from you, sir," said the professor in a loud voice, as if
he were addressing a class. "By the reports of the meteorological
society--"
"Hang the meteorological society, sir!" cried the lawyer, "I go by my
own knowledge."
"Pray, gentlemen!" cried Mrs Dunn, "you forget how weak the patient
is."
"Hush, Mrs Dunn," said the lad eagerly; "let them talk. I like to hear."
"I beg pardon," said the professor; "and we are forgetting the object of
our visit. Lawrence, my boy, would you like to go to Brighton or
Hastings, or the Isle of Wight?"
"No," said the lad sadly, "it is too much bother."
"To Devonshire, then--to Torquay?"
"No, sir. I went there last winter, and I believe it made me worse. I
don't want to be always seeing sick people in invalid chairs, and be
always hearing them talk about their doctors. How long shall you be
gone, sir?"
"How long? I don't know, my lad. Why?"
The boy was silent, and lay back gazing out of the window in a dreamy
way for some moments before he spoke again, and then his hearers
were startled by his words.
"I feel," he said, speaking as if to himself, "as if I should soon get better
if I could go to a land where the sun shone, and the sea was blue, and
the sweet soft cool breezes blew down from the mountains that tower
up into the clear sky--where there were fresh things to see, and there

would be none of this dreadful winter fog."
The professor and the lawyer exchanged glances, and the latter took a
great pinch of snuff out of his box, and held it half-way up towards his
nose.
Then he started, and let it fall upon the carpet--so much brown dust, for
the boy suddenly changed his tone, and in a quick excited manner
exclaimed, as he started forward:
"Oh! Mr Preston, pray--pray--take me with you when you go."
"But, my dear boy," faltered the professor, "I am not going now. I have
altered my plans."
"Then I must stop here," cried the boy in a passionate wailing
tone--"stop here and die."
There was a dead silence once more as the lad covered his face with his
thin hands, only broken by Mrs Dunn's sobs as she laid her head upon
the back of the chair and wept aloud, while directly after Mr Burne
took out his yellow handkerchief, prepared for a blow, and finally
delivered himself of a mild and gentle sniff.
"Lawrence!"
It was the deep low utterance of a strong man who was