m into the room where the poor lad was;
but Pat Lary, in his rough honest manner, prevented him.

"Excuse my want of manners, my brave young gentleman; but you shall not
stir a step till you have changed these wet clothes; and, if you will
not take my advice, you may chance to be in a worse plight than Mr.
George himself."

So deeply was Josiah interested in the welfare of George, that he had
totally disregarded his own wet, miserable condition; and, thanking the
blunt Irishman, he instantly retired to make the necessary change.

He had scarcely completed his task, when the dreadful cries of poor
George, who was returning to a state of feeling, and that accompanied by
exquisite pain, filled the house; this, added to the exhaustion he now
felt from his late adventure, so completely overcame the mind of Josiah,
that he sank down into a chair, and burst into tears.

At this moment, Henry West entered the room; who, kindly taking his
hand, said--

"Compose yourself, my dear Josiah, George is in no imminent danger; Mr.
Carter has succeeded in restoring him to sensation; but, he says, the
reanimation of a body taken out of the water in frosty weather is always
accompanied by great pain."

"Oh, poor George!" exclaimed Josiah, shuddering, "I can feel for the
anguish of his present situation, when I consider what pain a thumb or
finger produces, numbed with the cold. How a whole body must suffer in
the same state."

"He is quite delirious at present," replied Henry; "and, when his senses
return, he will have little recollection of what he now endures: but, my
dear Josiah, your hands are as cold as ice; had not you better take
something to prevent any ill effects arising from your late perilous
adventure?"

"Entertain no apprehensions on my account, Henry," said Josiah: "I am
strong and healthy; early rising and exercise have inured my body to the
slight inconveniences of wet and cold. I only feel for poor George; and,
in contemplating his sufferings, such trifles are disregarded by me."

"Dear Josiah, the longer I know you, the more I esteem and love you,"
cried Henry, warmly pressing the young Quaker's hand. "You have
performed a great and noble action to-day; you almost make me guilty of
that wicked passion, envy, for I wish this day I was Josiah Shirley!"

The gentle boy shook his head. "Do not flatter me, Henry; I have not
merited such praise for performing a mere act of duty, which we all owe
to each other. Has