Harold took them that morning, and for many another morning and
evening besides; while poor Alfred came from sitting by the fire to
being a prisoner up-stairs, only moved now and then from his own bed
to lie outside that of his mother, when he could bear it. The doctor
came, and did his best; but the disease had thrown itself into the
hip joint, and it was but too plain that Alfred must be a great
sufferer for a long time, and perhaps a cripple for life. But how
long might this life be? His mother dared not think. Alfred
himself, poor boy, was always trying with his whole might to believe
himself getting better; and Ellen and Harold always fancied him so,
when he was not very bad indeed; but for the last fortnight he had
been decidedly worse, and his heart and hopes were sinking, though he
would not own it to himself, and that and the pain made his spirits
fail so, that he had been more inclined to be fretful than any time
since his illness had begun.

His view from the window was a pleasant one; and when he was pretty
well, afforded him much amusement. The house stood in a neat garden,
with green railings between it and the road, over which Alfred could
see every one who came and went towards Elbury, and all who had
business at the post-office, or at Farmer Shepherd's. Opposite was
the farm-yard; and if nothing else was going on, there were always
cocks and hens, ducks and turkeys, pigs, cows, or horses, to be seen
there; and the cow-milking, or the taking the horses down to the
water, the pig-feeding, and the like, were a daily amusement.
Sloping down from the farm-yard, the ground led to the river, a
smooth clear stream, where the white ducks looked very pretty,
swimming, diving, and 'standing tail upwards;' and there was a high-
arched bridge over it, where Alfred could get a good view of the