ed toward him, searching his
face, as if suspecting a meaning beyond his words. Once she gave a
quick, frightened sob that made Gretel start, but, after that, she
listened calmly.

When Hans ceased to speak, his mother turned, gave one long, agonized
look at her husband, lying there so pale and unconscious, and threw
herself on her knees beside the bed.

Poor little Gretel! What did all this mean? She looked with questioning
eyes at Hans; he was standing, but his head was bent as if in prayer--at
the doctor. He was gently feeling her father's head and looked like
one examining some curious stone--at the assistant. The man coughed and
turned away--at her mother. Ah, little Gretel, that was the best you
could do--to kneel beside her and twine your warm, young arms about her
neck, to weep and implore God to listen.

When the mother arose, Dr. Boekman, with a show of trouble in his eyes,
asked gruffly, "Well, jufvrouw, shall it be done?"

"Will it pain him, mynheer?" she asked in a trembling voice.

"I cannot say. Probably not. Shall it be done?"

"It MAY cure him, you said, and--mynheer, did you tell my boy
that--perhaps--perhaps..." She could not finish.

"Yes, jufvrouw, I said the patient might sink under the operation, but
we hope it may prove otherwise." He looked at his watch. The assistant
moved impatiently toward the window. "Come, jufvrouw, time presses. Yes
or no?"

Hans wound his arm about his mother. It was not his usual way. He even
leaned his head against her shoulder.

"The meester awaits an answer," he whispered.

Dame Brinker had long been head of her house in every sense. Many a time
she had been very stern with Hans, ruling him with a strong hand and
rejoicing in her motherly discipline. NOW she felt so weak, so helpless.
It was something to feel that firm embrace. There was strength even in
the touch of that yellow hair.

She turned to her boy imploringly.

"Oh, Hans! What shall I say?"

"Say what God tells thee, Mother," answered Hans, bowing his head.

One quick, questioning prayer to Heaven rose from the mother's heart.

The answer came.

She turned toward Dr. Boekman.

"It is right, mynheer. I consent."

"Humph!" grunted the doctor, as if to say, "You've been long enough
about it." Then he conferred a moment with his assistant, who listened
with great outward deference but was inwardly rejoicing at the grand
joke he would have to tell his fellow students. He had actually seen a