esolate now."

Tom paused and pressed his hand upon his flushed forehead.

"You may think it strange," he continued, "that I speak to you in this
way about poor old women, but I _feel_ deeply for their forlorn
condition. The young can help themselves, more or less, and they have
strength to stand their sorrows, with _hope_, blessed hope, to keep
them up; but _poor_ old men and old women cannot help themselves, and
cannot stand their sorrows, and, as far as this life is concerned, they
have _no hope,_ except to die soon and easy, and, if possible, in summer
time, when the wind is not so very cold and bitter."

"But how can this be put right, Tom?" asked Fred in a tone of deep
commiseration. "Our being sorry for it and anxious about it (and you've
made me sorry, I assure you) can do very little good, you know."

"I don't know, Fred," replied Tom, sinking into his usual quiet tone.
"If every city and town in Great Britain would start a society, whose
first resolution should be that they would not leave one poor _old_ man
or woman unprovided for, _that_ would do it. Or if the Government would
take it in hand _honestly_, that would do it."

"Call all hands, Mr. Bolton," cried the captain in a sharp voice. "Get
out the ice-poles, and lower away the boats."

"Hallo! what's wrong?" said Fred, starting up.

"Getting too near the bergs, I suspect," remarked Tom. "I say, Fred,
before we go on deck, will you promise to do what I ask you?"

"Well--yes, I will."

"Will you promise, then, all through your life, especially if you ever
come to be rich or influential, to think _of_ and _for_ old men and
women who are poor?"

"I will," answered Fred; "but I don't know that I'll ever be rich, or
influential, or able to help them much."

"Of course you don't. But when a thought about them strikes you, will
you always _think it out_, and, if possible, _act it out_, as God shall
enable you?"

"Yes, Tom, I promise to do that as well as I can."

"That's right; thank you, my boy," said the young surgeon, as they
descended the shrouds and leaped on deck.

Here they found the captain walking up and down rapidly, with an anxious
expression of face. After taking a turn or two he stopped short, and
gazed out astern.

"Set the stun'-sails, Mr. Bolton. The breeze will be up in a little, I
think. Let the men pull with a will."

The order was given, and soon the ship was under a cloud of canvas,
advancing slowly as the boats towed her