But he paid no attention. He took hold of Jock, and made him lie flat
on the cushioned seat, covering him with a thick travelling-rug and
putting under his head a rolled-up shawl for a pillow.
"That's better," the kind voice said. "Now—mind—you are to go to sleep.
Don't think and fret. Things won't be half so bad as they seem just
now. It will all come right in the end."
He patted the boy's head and went back to his seat.
Jock gave one grateful look, and shut his eyes. The train made such
a roaring that at first he could attend to nothing else. But soon he
grew used to it, and began to lose himself in half-dreams. The night
had been a short one, and he had eaten very little breakfast. Sounds
grew distant, and soon he was off. For two full hours he never stirred.
Then he woke up slowly, wondering at first where he could be, till
recollection dawned, and he sat up.
"Better?" Mr. Royle asked.
"I'm quite well," Jock said.
"That's right. Now will you have some sandwiches?"
And Jock found that he actually could enjoy them. The queer sick
feelings were gone, and, though the great sense of loss was with him
still, he could meet it now with more courage.