But we really haven't stolen anything, we aren't
robbers!"
"Begone, ye rascals!" repeated the old man, and then such a violent fit
of coughing took possession of him that he sank back on his bed
perfectly exhausted and helpless, waving them away and shaking his head
at them when they tried to approach him.
Dudley looked doubtfully at Roy.
"I'm afraid we aren't doing him any good," he said, slowly. "He won't
let us."
"No," was Roy's response, "we must go, I suppose. He is a foolish,
stupid old man, or he would listen to us and let us explain."
Then advancing again to the sick man Roy said slowly and solemnly,
"You'll be very sorry one day when you know how you've treated us, and
we shall never, never try to see you again, or bring you pudding or
comfort you, _never_! If you had let us, we should have washed your
face and hands, and made you some gruel, and given you your medicine,
and then sat down by your bed and talked nicely to you, but you won't
let us do you good, so we shall leave you, and if you're lonely locked
in here all day with no one to speak to, it's your own fault!"
Then holding his head up bravely, Roy marched out of the kitchen, and
Dudley followed him with some misgivings as to his exit again by the
pantry window.
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