one
before. It's for Dr. Donald MacDonald, who lives on Commonwealth Avenue,
up north in Boston city. And I want to tell him that little Lou Amos is
most dying from a brain tumor. And tell him that she is nearly blind and
'comatose'...."

"That word's a new one to me, how do you spell it?" interrupted the
agent, with pencil plowing through his rumpled hair.

"I ... I guess I've forgotten. Spell it like it sounds, and he'll know.
And tell him that I will pay him all the money I've got, if he'll only
come quick."

"How shall I sign it? It has to have your name, you know."

"Say it's from his foster-sister, Rose."

Laboriously the man wrote out the message, and the floor was littered
with discarded attempts before he was satisfied; but in time the
distant, slow clicking of the telegraph key below was sending not only
the child's eager appeal to its destination many hundred miles north,
but a message of renewed hope into the heart of Smiles.

"It will cost you more'n a dollar," said the man, as he appeared again.
"But if you haven't got that much, why ..."

"I've got it right here," responded the girl, turning on him for an
instant a glowing smile of gratitude for his halting offer. "I'm truly
more'n obliged to you, sir ... and your wife. I reckon God meant that
you should be here to-night to help save the life of a dear little
child," she added simply.

"Now I'll just put on my things and be startin' back home."

"Startin' home? Well, I reckon not. You're a-goin' to stay right here
to-night, and let my woman put you straight to bed. That's what you're
a-goin' to do."

Smiles' protests were all in vain, and soon the weary body and mind were
relaxed in the sleep which follows hard on the heels of exhaustion.

* * * * *

It was close on to midnight when Dr. Donald MacDonald reached his
apartment after a rare theatre party with his fiancee. His day's work
had been exacting, and he was doubly tired. The thought of bed held an
almost irresistible appeal.

As he inserted his latch key in the lock, he heard the telephone bell in
his office ringing insistently; his heart sank, and cried a rebellious
answer.

Combined force of habit and the call of duty caused him to hasten to the
instrument, however, without stopping to remove hat or coat, and to his
ear came a small, distant voice saying, "A telegram for Dr. Donald
MacDonald. Is he ready to receive it?"

"Yes ... Hold on a minute