"Well, my boy," said the doctor, with his fingers on the wrist near
him, "you look better. Feel better too, don't you?"
Tode gazed at him, wondering who he was and paying no attention to his
question.
"Doctor," exclaimed the nurse, suddenly, "he hasn't spoken a single
word. Do you suppose he can be deaf and dumb?"
The bishop entered the room just in time to catch the last words.
"Deaf and dumb!" he repeated, in a tone of dismay. "Dear me! If the
poor child is deaf and dumb, I shall certainly keep him here until I
can find a better home for him."
As his eyes rested on the bishop Tode started and uttered a little
inarticulate cry of joy; then, as he understood what the bishop was
saying, a singular expression passed over his face. The doctor,
watching him closely could make nothing of it.
"He looks as if he knew you, bishop," the doctor said.
The bishop had taken the boy's rough little hand in his own large,
kindly grasp.
"No, doctor," he answered, "I don't think I've ever seen him before
yesterday, but we're friends all the same, aren't we, my lad?" and he
smiled down into the grey eyes looking up to him so earnestly and
happily.
Tode opened his lips to speak, then suddenly remembering, slightly
shook his head while the colour mounted in his pale cheeks.
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