"I'm afraid you will, bishop. I'm not much good anyhow, nowadays," and
the old man dropped again into his chair with a heavy sigh.

The weeks that followed were the most miserable weeks of Tode Byran's
short life. He found out some things about himself that he had never
before suspected. It was wholesome knowledge, but it was not pleasant
to find that in spite of his strongest resolutions, those nimble
fingers of his _would_ pick up nuts and apples from street stands
and his quick tongue would rattle off lies and evil words before he
could remember to stop it. The other boys found him a most unpleasant
companion in these days, for his continual failures made him cross and
moody. He would speedily have given up the struggle but for Little
Brother. Several times he did give it up for a week or two, but then
he staid away from the Hunts' rooms until he grew so hungry for a
sight of the baby face that he could stay away no longer. Nan came to
understand what these absences meant, and always when he reappeared
she would speak a word of encouragement and faith in his final
victory. Tode had not cared at all for Nan at first, but in these days
of struggle and failure he began to value her steadfast faith in him,
and again and again he renewed his vow to make himself "fit to help
bring up Little Brother," as he expressed it.

It was one day toward the close of winter that Tode noticed that
Mr. Carey seemed more than usually dull and listless, dropping into a
doze even while the boy was speaking to him, and he went to bed
directly after supper. When the boy awoke the next morning the old man
lay just as he had fallen asleep. He did not answer when Tode spoke to
him, and his hands were cold as ice to the boy's touch.