solation as a revelation of
everything lovely and of good report.

The hot fumes of the toddy sent the old man off into a heavy sleep,
during which he got a respite from his racking cough. It was late
afternoon when he awoke, and Gladys was sitting by the fire in the
fading light, idle, for a wonder, though her work lay on her lap. It was
too dark for her to see, and she feared to move lest she should awaken
the sleeper. He was awake, however, some time before she was aware, and
he lay looking at her intently, his face betokening thought of the most
serious kind. She was startled at length by his utterance of her name.

'Yes, uncle, you have had a fine sleep, so many hours. See, it is almost
dark, and Walter will be down presently,' she said brightly. 'Are you
ready for tea now?'

She came to his bed-side, and looked down upon him as tenderly as if he
had been the dearest being to her on earth.

'You are a good girl, a good girl,' he said quickly,--'the best girl in
the whole world.'

Her face flushed with pleasure at this rare praise.

'I am very glad, uncle, if you think so,' she said gently. 'And now,
what can the best girl in the world do to keep up her reputation? Is the
pain gone?'

'Almost; it is not so bad, anyhow. Do you think I'm dying, Gladys?'

She gave a quick start, and her cheek blanched slightly at this sudden
question.

'Oh no. Why do you ask such a thing, uncle? You have only got a very
bad cold--a chill caught in that cold place up there. I wonder you have
escaped so long.'

'Ay, it is rather cold. I've been often chilled to the bone, and I've
seen Walter's fingers blue with cold,' he said. 'You'll run up soon and
tell him to haul all the soap-boxes out of the fireplace, and build up a
big fire to be ready for the morning, lighted the first thing.'

'Very well, uncle; but I don't think I'll let you up-stairs to-morrow.'

'It's for Walter, not for me. If I'm better, I've something else to do
to-morrow.'

'Well, we'll see,' said Gladys briskly. 'Now I must set on the kettle.
Wouldn't you like something for tea?'

'No, nothing. I've no hunger,' he answered, and his eyes followed her as
she crossed the floor and busied herself with her accustomed skill about
the fireplace.

'You're an industrious creature. Nothing comes amiss to you,' he said
musingly. 'It's a poor life for a young woman like you. I wonder you've
stood it so long?'

'It has been a very good life on the whole, uncle,'