"I wonder what 'ud become of her if I--if I died now? You're
growing up, and you're a clever lad; you'll soon be able to shift
for yourself. But what'll Harriet do? If only she had her health.
And I shall have nothing to leave either her or you, Julian,--
nothing,--nothing! She'll have to get her living somehow. I must
think of some easy business for her, I must. She might be a teacher,
but her head isn't strong enough, I fear. Julian--"

"Yes, uncle?"

"You--you are old enough to understand things, my boy," went on
his uncle, with quavering voice. "Suppose, after I'm dead and gone,
Harriet should want help. She won't make many friends, I fear, and
she'll have bad health. Suppose she was in want of any kind,--
you'd stand by her, Julian, wouldn't you? You'd be a friend to her,
--always?"

"Indeed I would, uncle!" exclaimed the boy stoutly.

"You promise me that, Julian, this Christmas night?--you promise
it?"

"Yes, I promise, uncle. You've always been kind and good to me, and
see if I'm not the same to Harriet."

His voice trembled with generous emotion.

"No, I sha'n't see it, my boy," said Smales, shaking his head
drearily; "but the promise will be a comfort to me at the end, a
comfort to me. You're a good lad, Julian!"