"
"I think it would," said Mr. Ross, "so you must go on as you are, Antony,
till I can find you something better than a crossing. You are looking
very well, my boy; that's a nice, warm suit of clothes you have on,
better than the rags you came in by a long way."
It was a sailor's suit, sent to the hospital by some mother, whose boy
had perhaps outgrown it; or, it may be, whose boy had been taken away
from all her tender care for him. It was of good, rough, thick blue
cloth, and fitted Tony well. He had grown a good deal during his
illness, and his face had become whiter and more refined; his hair, too,
was cut to a proper length, and parted down the side, no longer lying
about his head in a tangled mass. He coloured up with pleasure as Mr.
Ross looked approvingly at him.
"They've lent it me till I go out," he said, with a tone slightly
regretful in his voice, "I only wish Dolly could have seen me in it, and
her aunt Charlotte. My own things were too ragged for me to wear 'em in a
place like this."
"They've given it to you, Antony," replied Mr. Ross, "those are the
clothes you will go home in to-morrow."
It seemed too much for Tony to believe, though a nurse who was sitting by
and sewing away busily, told him it was quite true.
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