d, as they plead to stay and see him waken. As he went out he
said: "A happy New Year, my children; you have much to thank God for
to-day."

O didn't they thank Him! Their hearts were so full of joy and
thankfulness that it was a long time before they could forget everything
and sleep. It was noon when they awoke, and yet Miss Smithers had not
called them. Stealing to the door they looked in; they wanted just one
look at Guy, to be sure it was true and not all a dream, and then they
went down stairs.

Martha, little woman that she was, was overjoyed at seeing them and
knowing Mr. Guy would soon be well.

"You did not get your Christmas present, dear child," said Ruth;
"whenever brother Guy wakens you may go up for it; it is in the top
drawer of my bureau wrapped up in white paper."

"Miss Agnes gave me two white aprons, all scolloped round," said Martha,
with a beaming face.

"You have been a good girl, Martha, we could not have done without you,"
continued Ruth. "When Mr. Guy is better, we will tell him you helped to
make him well."

"Mother said I should be as good as I could, and if you wanted any more
help, she would stay all the time, because Miss Agnes was so kind to
father," replied the child.

Miss Smithers appeared looking very tired, but cheerful. "Now girls you
may go up, he is awake and wants you. But there must not be many words."
Ruth took two steps at once in her haste to get up, but she was so out
of breath, she had to recover before going in the room, so that both
entered together. Guy was awake and knew them; they could scarcely
realize it. They kissed him; then each held a thin hand and told him not
to speak. When he grew stronger they should have a good, long talk. He
smiled faintly and then fell asleep again.

They would have gone away now, but he held their hands in a tight clasp,
and so they sat for hours, until he awoke--tired and cramped, yet afraid
to move. That night Miss Smithers insisted upon sitting up, and they
went to bed in their own room, but not until they had had a long talk.

"This night, two years ago, Agnes, do you remember?" asked Ruth,
drawing her chair over to the fire. "You recollect I went to the
theatre, and you refused. If Guy had died, I know I should have lost my
reason. If it had only been that once, but although I suffered agony
then, you know how often I have gone with him since. This came to me all
the time of his sickness: 'You mislead your brother, if he i