Tony recovered quickly, yet he was
there some weeks before the doctor pronounced him strong enough to turn
out again to rough it in the world. As he grew better he learned a number
of things which were making him a wiser, as well as a stronger boy,
before the time came for him to leave.
The day before he was to go out of hospital, his friend, Mr. Ross, who
had been often to see him, called for the last time, and found him in the
room where the little patients who were nearly well were at play
together. Some of them were making believe to have a feast, with a small
dinner-service of wooden plates and dishes, and a few bits of
orange-peel, and biscuits; but Tony was sitting quietly and gravely on
one side, looking on from a distance. He had never learned to play.
"Antony," said Mr. Ross--he was the only person who ever called him
Antony, and it seemed to make more of a man of him--"what are you
thinking to do when you leave here to-morrow?"
"I s'pose I must go back to my crossing," answered Tony, looking
very grave.
"No, I think I can do better for you than that," said his friend, "I
have a sister living out in the country, about fifty miles from London;
and she wants a boy to help the gardener, and run on errands for the
house.
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