he
papers hereafter for the 'casualty cases,' so that I can get their
names. That will be so much nicer, won't it?"

Mrs. Franklin came over and stroked his hair affectionately.

"Is this your own idea?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered, brightly. "I got to thinking how lonesome the
children must be, even if the nurses are kind; and you know folks can't
always visit them. Then I knew no one would think of writing letters,
and it would be such a treat for them to know that a strange boy was
talking to them."

"My dear son," murmured his mother, fondly.

"Of course," he went on, "I'm not going to tell them that I'm an
invalid, because that would make them feel badly. And, then, I'm not in
the hospital; I'm home, and that makes all the difference in the
world."

"It is an excellent idea," said Mrs. Franklin, cheerfully, but with
tears in her eyes.

"Do you think so, really?" he asked, eagerly. "I am so glad, because, do
you know, mother, I have been getting so gloomy of late, thinking how
useless I am."

"Amos!" she exclaimed, reproachfully.

"Now, mother, I'm not complaining; but I know I am useless. I can never
earn my living by any kind of work, and I'm not talented enough to be an
artist or designer; but I thought if I could only do something to help
somebody, and all of a sudden it flashed upon me that there were boys
and girls worse off than I am, and I might make them happy. And you
think it will?"

"Decidedly, I do. It is a noble thought, Amos, and I am proud of your
idea."

"Then I will write some more," he said, simply.

A week or two passed and Amos had a dozen little correspondents, who
each and all wanted to see him; but he gently evaded their requests, and
only wrote longer letters.

"They must think I am well and strong," he said.

Then one day there came a handsome carriage to the door, and a
gray-haired gentleman called on Amos.

"I want to see my assistant," he said, in a deep, hearty voice. "I am
Doctor Parkerson. Where is the boy who has been helping me make my
little patients get well?"

It was a proud moment for Amos when the great physician, whose name was
world-renowned, took him by the hand and thanked him.

"You are a true philanthropist, my boy," he said, warmly. "Medicine and
care are well enough, but kind words and sympathy are great helps. And
you are a sufferer, yourself! Perhaps I can do something to make you
happy in return."

And I am sure you would like to hear tha