“I wish,” he had repeatedly said to Rosa, “that the old man would stay away.  I’d see the divil with as much satisfacshum as him.  Miss Faith too, I am sorry to say, is out of her wits.”

One morning when Felix went up stairs, in answer to his master’s bell, he could not avoid remarking on his altered appearance.

“I hope you will ’scuse me, sir,” he said, “but me and the servants very much alarm about you, sir.”

“I am obliged to you, Felix, and to all of you, but really there is no occasion for any alarm,” said Mr. Armstrong.

“The case is the alarmingest when the patient doesn’t know how sick he is.  There was my old friend, Pompey Topset.  He was setting up on the bed, when I come in to see him, smoking a pipe.  And says he, says Pompey to me, says he, Felix, how do you do? this child never feel better.  Then he give one puff and his head fall on the breast, and the pipe jump out of his mouth and burnt the clothes, and where was Pompey!  He never,” added Felix, shaking his head, “was more mistaken in all his life.”

Mr. Armstrong was obliged to smile.  “So you think me in as dangerous a condition as Pompey was, when he took his last smoke.”

“Bless you, Mr. Armstrong for the sweet smile,” exclaimed, the negro.  “If you know how good it make me feel here, (laying his hand on his heart) you would smile pretty often.  I can remember when the wren wasn’t merrier than you, and you laughed almost as much as this fool Felix.”  At the recollection of those happy days, poor Felix pressed his hands upon his eyes, and tried to hide the tears, that in spite of his efforts stole through the fingers.  “But,” continued he, “I hope in the name of marcy, that you ain’t so bad off as Pompey.  That can’t be.  I only spoke of him for the sake of—­of—­the illumination.”

“And what would you have me do?” inquired Armstrong, desirous to take all possible notice of the affectionate fellow.

“I pufess a high ’pinion of the doctor,” answered Felix.  “There is no man who gives medicine that tastes worse, and therefore must be the powerfullest.  I would proscribe the doctor, sir.”

“You would prescribe the doctor?  Ah, Felix, I am afraid my case has nothing to do with his medicines.”

“There is one other thing I should like to mention if I wasn’t ’fraid it might offend Mr. Armstrong,” said Felix, hesitatingly.

“And what is that, Felix?  I will promise not to be offended.”

Thus encouraged, Felix ventured to say.

“I have remark that Mr. Holden come often to see you, and you go to see him.  His visits always seem to leave you kind o’ solemncolly like, and all the world is surprise that you are so condescensious to the basket-man.”

“Enough of this,” said Armstrong, abruptly and sternly.  “You permit too much freedom to your tongue respecting your superiors.  Leave the room.”

Poor Felix, aghast at the sudden change in the manner of his master, precipitately retired, casting back a grieved look, and ejaculating under his breath, as he closed the door, “Good Lord!”