e was struck, but not on it; "but, doctor,
look at his father, the blood is trickling out of his mouth."

The doctor, after examining into the state of both, told her not to
despair--

"Your husband," said he, "who is only in a fit, has broken a
blood-vessel, I think some small blood-vessel is broken; but as for the
boy, I can as yet pronounce no certain opinion upon him. It will be a
satisfaction to you, however, to know that he is not dead, but only in a
heavy stupor occasioned by the blow."

It was now that her tears began to flow, and copiously and bitterly they
did flow; but as there was still hope, her grief, though bitter, was not
that of despair. Ere many minutes, the doctor's opinion respecting one
of them, at least, was verified. Art opened his eyes, looked wildly
about him, and the doctor instantly signed to his wife to calm the
violence of her sorrow, and she was calm.

"Margaret," said he, "where's Atty? bring him to me--bring him to me!"

"Your son was hurt," replied the doctor, "and has just gone to sleep."

"He is dead," said Art, "he is dead, he will never waken from that
sleep--and it was I that killed him!"

"Don't disturb yourself," said the doctor, "as you value your own life
and his; you yourself have broken a blood-vessel, and there is nothing
for you now but quiet and ease."

"He is dead," said his father, "he is dead, and it was I that killed
him; or, if he's not dead, I must hear it from his mother's lips."

"Art, darlin', he is not dead, but he is very much hurted," she replied;
"Art, as you love him, and me, and us all, be guided by the doctor."

"He is not dead," said the doctor; "severely hurt he is, but not dead.
Of that you may rest assured."

So far as regarded Art, the doctor was right; he had broken only a small
blood vessel, and the moment the consequences of his fit had passed away,
he was able to get up, and walk about with very little diminution of his
strength.

To prevent him from seeing his son, or to conceal the boy's state from
him, was impossible. He no sooner rose than with trembling hands, a
frightful terror of what was before him, he went to the little bed on
which the being dearest to him on earth lay. He stood for a moment,
and looked down upon the boy's beautiful, but motionless face; he first
stooped, and putting his mouth to the child's ear said--

"Atty, Atty"--he then shook his head; "you see," he added, addressing
those who stood about him, "that he