d
him, and the big brothers sat on the bench in front of the house, so as
to be within easy call. But when twilight came, and everything possible
had been done for his patient's comfort, the doctor, who was tired with
his long ride and the day's strain, went into the little girl's room and
took a much-needed sleep.

"Keep up your courage," he said cheerily to the biggest brother, as he
left him at his post by the little girl; "her years of outdoor life will
help her rally. I have hope; but wake me at once if you note any decided
change."

The evening hours passed slowly. In the sick-room the little girl's
mother was resting on the lounge, which had been pulled close to the
canopied bed. The neighbor woman dozed in the kitchen, beside the table
where was spread the untasted supper. The eldest and the youngest
brothers were stretched, still dressed, on their beds in the attic. The
house was noiseless, and dark everywhere except in the sitting-room.
There, on the high clock-shelf, the same tall lamp that, nearly seven
and a half years before, had burned like a beacon and lighted the coming
of the stork, now, turned low, shone upon the faithful biggest brother
and the suffering little girl.

Shortly after ten o'clock an interruption came to the silence. A gentle
knocking was heard at the hall door, and, on going out, the neighbor
woman found a cattleman who had recently moved into the Territory from
northern Texas standing on the stone step. Having heard that morning
from the Swede boy that the little girl was dangerously ill, he had
ridden down to proffer the services of himself and his swift horse
Sultan. And when the neighbor woman told him that there was small hope
of the little girl's recovery, he stabled his animal, and prepared to
remain all night.

As he came out of the barn, after having tied Sultan in a vacant stall,
he found that, unknown to the family, another anxious watcher was
lingering about. A tow head was suddenly thrust from behind the partly
open door, and a hand halted him by catching appealingly at his sleeve.
"She bane bater?" asked a low, timid voice.

The cattleman turned, half startled, and shook his head as he replied,
"I reckon she's a lot worse," he said. He walked on, but paused again at
the smoke-house. The tow-head was just behind, and the cattleman could
hear the sound of chattering teeth; so he whipped off his overcoat and
tossed it back. When he entered the hall the chattering had st