ill-treatment,
and by the doses of spirits that had been forced down, besides which,
Alwyn was naturally delicate, and--though the doctors would not say so
to father or sister--there were hereditary predispositions that gave
him the less chance of battling through.

Yet Mr. Egremont concluded his purchase of the pony, and insisted that
Alwyn should be carried to the window to see it; and Alwyn's smile was
almost enough to break Nuttie's heart, but his head drooped on nurse's
shoulder, he hardly lifted his heavy eyelids, and begged for 'by-by'
again. Even Annaple burst into tears at the sight, ran out of the room
with her sobs, and never augured recovery again, though still she
strove to cheer and while away the poor father's piteous hours by
making the most of every sign that the child was happy and not
suffering much.

That he would be viewed as a 'pale placid martyr' was his sister's
chief comfort. His replies as to the manner of the hurt, as well as
his light-headed wanderings, had made it more and more evident that the
man Brag's brutality had been excited by his persisting in kneeling
down to say his prayers aloud--the only way he knew how to say them.
Indeed there was a recurring anxiety night and morning to kneel, which
had to be reasoned away, even when he was too weak to make the attempt,
and was only appeased by 'Sister' kneeling by his side, holding his
hands, and repeating the little prayers with him. It was of his own
accord that he added: 'And forgive those people, and make them good.'
Annaple burst into tears again and almost scolded when she heard of it.
'Oh dear! oh dear! now I know he won't get well! I'm glad Billy isn't
so horribly good! Nuttie, Nuttie, don't! You know I don't mean it.
Only I just can't bear it. He is the sweetest little fellow in the
world! And oh! the cruelty of it.'

'Yes,' said Nuttie in her dreary calmness; 'he is too sweet and lovely
and beautiful and good to be anywhere but safe with mother.'

For it was more apparent that they could not keep him. It did not last
long; there were a couple of piteous days of restless pain and
distress, and then came the more fatal lull and absence of suffering, a
drowsiness in which the little fellow sank gradually away, lying with a
strange calm beauty on his face, and smiling feebly when he now and
then lifted his eyes to rest them on sister or nurse. His father could
not bear the sight. It filled him more with angry compassion t