lmost all the time. I don't know what
we should have done without the boy. Lois is all right,--dreadfully
distressed, of course, about the accident; saying it is her fault,
and all that sort of thing. But she wasn't to blame; some fool left
a newspaper to blow along the road and frighten the horse. She needs
you to cheer her up."

"Poor little Mr. Denner!" Helen exclaimed. "I'm glad Giff is with him.
Has Mr. Forsythe come?"

"Yes," said the rector; "but they are queer people, those Forsythes. The
young man seems quite annoyed at having been summoned: he remarked to
your aunt that there was nothing the matter with his mother, and she must
be moved to her own house; there was nothing so bad for her as to have a
lot of old women fussing over her. I wish you could have seen Adele's
face! I don't think she admires him as much as she did. But his mother
was moved day before yesterday, and he has a trained nurse for her. Your
aunt Adele feels her occupation gone, and thinks Mrs. Forsythe will die
without her," the rector chuckled. "But she won't,--she'll get well."
Here he gave a heavy sigh, and said, "Poor Denner!"

"You don't mean Mr. Denner won't get well?" Helen asked anxiously.

"I'm afraid not," Dr. Howe answered sadly.

They were silent for a little while, and then Helen said in a hushed
voice, "Does he know it, uncle Archie?"

"No," said the rector explosively, "he--he doesn't!"

Dr. Howe was evidently disturbed; he pulled up one of the carriage
windows with some violence, and a few minutes afterwards lowered it with
equal force. "No, he doesn't," he repeated. "The doctor only told me this
morning that there was no hope. Says it is a question of days. He's very
quiet; does not seem to suffer; just lies there, and is polite to people.
He was dreadfully troubled at breaking up the whist party last Saturday;
sent apologies to the other three by Gifford." Dr. Howe tugged at his
gray mustache, and looked absently out of the window. "No, I don't
believe he has an idea that he--he won't get well." The rector had a
strange shrinking from the word "death."

"I suppose he ought to know," Helen said thoughtfully.

"That is what the doctor said," answered the rector; "told me he might
want to settle his affairs. But bless my soul, what affairs can Denner
have? He made his will fifteen years ago, and left all he had to Sarah
Denner's boy. I don't see what he has to do."

"But, uncle," Helen said, "mightn't he have some f