he
student to talk less, and beckoned Hans to draw near.

This strange man had a great horror of speaking to women, especially
on surgical matters. "One can never tell," he said, "what moment the
creatures will scream or faint." Therefore he explained Raff Brinker's
case to Hans and told him what he believed should be done to save the
patient.

Hans listened attentively, growing red and pale by turns and throwing
quick, anxious glances toward the bed.

"It may KILL the father--did you say, mynheer?" he exclaimed at last in
a trembling whisper.

"It may, my boy. But I have a strong belief that it will cure and not
kill. Ah! If boys were not such dunces, I could lay the whole matter
before you, but it would be of no use."

Hans looked blank at this compliment.

"It would be of no use," repeated Dr. Boekman indignantly. "A great
operation is proposed, but one might as well do it with a hatchet. The
only question asked is, 'Will it kill?'"

"The question is EVERYTHING to us, mynheer," said Hans with tearful
dignity.

Dr. Boekman looked at him in sudden dismay.

"Ah! Exactly so. You are right, boy, I am a fool. Good boy. One does not
wish one's father killed--of course I am a fool."

"Will he die, mynheer, if this sickness goes on?"

"Humph! This is no new illness. The same thing growing worse ever
instant--pressure on the brain--will take him off soon like THAT," said
the doctor, snapping his fingers.

"And the operation MAY save him," pursued Hans. "How soon, mynheer, can
we know?"

Dr. Boekman grew impatient.

"In a day, perhaps, an hour. Talk with your mother, boy, and let her
decide. My time is short."

Hans approached his mother; at first, when she looked up at him, he
could not utter a syllable; then, turning his eyes away, he said in a
firm voice, "I must speak with the mother alone."

Quick little Gretel, who could not quite understand what was passing,
threw rather an indignant look at Hans and walked away.

"Come back, Gretel, and sit down," said Hans, sorrowfully.

She obeyed.

Dame Brinker and her boy stood by the window while the doctor and his
assistant, bending over the bedside, conversed together in a low tone.
There was no danger of disturbing the patient. He appeared like one
blind and deaf. Only his faint, piteous moans showed him to be a living
man. Hans was talking earnestly, and in a low voice, for he did not wish
his sister to hear.

With dry, parted lips, Dame Brinker lean