came in to the fire, but at first he could not
speak.

'Sir,' he said at last, in a broken voice, 'am I too late? Tell me the
truth, sir; don't hide it over like; is little John dead?'

'No, Duncan,' I said, 'he still lives, and he is asleep; and, Duncan, I
believe he will be given back to you.'

'Thank God!' he said; 'thank God for that!'

For just a moment a doubt crossed my mind as to whether I ought to give
him this hope, and yet I rebuked myself for this doubt, for I was
clinging to the promise, and the word of the Lord was sure, and I
believed that if what I asked was good for these poor souls it
_must_ be granted to me.

Duncan had now sat down in his arm-chair, and by the light of the fire I
could see that he was faint and exhausted. He leant back wearily for
some time and seemed unable to speak. I had left the kettle on the fire,
and I hastened to give him a cup of tea and something to eat.

Then I crept upstairs to see what was going on, but finding Polly and
little John were still both fast asleep, I came back to him. He was
better for the tea, and able to talk to me.

'I've had an awful time, sir,' he said, in answer to my inquiry. 'Many
and many's the time since I was a boy that I've been near the dark
valley, but this time, why, I think I've been half-way down it, sir.
How's my poor lass, sir?'

'Very cut up, Duncan,' I said. 'She thinks you are dead. Your boat came
up with last night's tide.'

'Poor Polly, poor lass!' he said; 'I'll go to her.'

'Wait a little, Duncan,' I said; 'she is asleep now, and she will bear
the joy better when she wakes.'

'And my little lad?' he asked.

'Sleeping too, Duncan, so peacefully and quietly.'

'Well, it's hard not to go up, sir, but may be you're right.'

He waited very patiently for an hour, and when I crept up again at the
end of that time Polly and the child were both awake, and she was giving
him some milk. Little John was quite conscious, and looked more like
himself than he had done since his illness began. He had no sooner
finished his milk, however, than he began his old weary cry, 'Come,
daddy, come to little John.'

Polly burst into tears again when she heard him calling for the father
whom she believed to be dead; but I bent over the child and said, 'Yes,
little John, daddy will come to you.'

I believe Polly fancied that I thought the child was dying, and that I
meant his father's spirit was coming to fetch him, for she only cried
the m