d over her child into her Father's loving hands, and
rest content with the result; and so she was able, in perhaps the most
anxious time of her life, to look up and say, 'Father, not my will, but
Thine be done.'

The days slowly passed, and still no change for the better. The doctor
came and went with his grave, impenetrable face, and Teddy was still
unconscious. Then doubts began to rise in his mother's heart as to
whether his reason would ever come back, and she stopped the doctor as he
was leaving one morning to ask him the question,--

'If he lives, doctor, will he be an idiot?--my brave, bonny boy! Oh, I
would rather have death for him than that!' And the doctor could only
give her the meagre consolation, 'He may recover yet. I have seen worse
cases than this pull through, and be as bright as ever they were.'

And then, one afternoon, when the setting sun was flooding the room with
a golden glory, the little head turned on the pillow. 'Mother!'

The sound of that word, not uttered since she had seen him in the
doctor's house that first terrible day, was like the sweetest music in
her ear. Stooping over him she met the clear conscious gaze of the
blue eyes.

'So tired, mother! Put your hand under my cheek. Good-night.'

The eyelids closed, and the limbs relaxed in healthy sleep. The
mother sat down, and though her arm became stiff and weary, not a
muscle of it moved.

The doctor came in just before he woke.

'He has spoken; he knew me,' she said; and the doctor nodded and smiled.
And then a minute after the boy raised his head.

'Where am I, mother?' he asked feebly.

'In bed, darling. You've been ill.'

'Where's my button?'

'He'll do,' said the doctor contentedly; 'keep him quiet, and feed him
up.'

And the glad news went round the village that Teddy was getting better.

It was a bright day for the farm when Teddy was brought down in a blanket
and put in the big easy-chair by the fire. His little face and hands
looked very fragile, with the blue veins standing out clearly under the
transparent white skin, but his large eyes shone with light and gladness.
His mother made him comfortable, then left him in his grandmother's
charge for a short time. Old Mrs. Platt had had her share of suffering
during those sad days; her heart was wrapped up in the boy, and perhaps
the greatest trial of all was to stand aloof, and perform her daily work
downstairs, whilst her daughter-in-law had the sole charge of him