with a
raging fever. It was seen very quickly that the young man ought to have
given up much sooner and the best medical aid was hastily summoned. Of
course a substitute must be provided, and the committee succeeded in
securing the services of Professor Schuets, from New York, to have charge
of the organ and music during the dedicatory services. When the day (the
Sabbath) for the great service came Carl lay in his bed delirious with
typhoid fever. Nancy Sparrow was his faithful nurse, while Tom was hands
and feet to his mother. It was really pathetic to see the little fellow
as he sat near the bed so vigilant and anxious in his desire to be of
service. And when the doctor came, how his great blue eyes watched his
every movement! Then he would waylay the doctor as he left the house,
asking if Carl were not improving, and if he would not be up in a few
days. But the physician did not dare encourage the boy. It was soon
observed that every morning and evening, immediately after the doctor's
visits, Tom walked over to the office in the warehouse, where Giles more
than once found him engaged in earnest prayer for Carl's recovery.

"I tell you, Mrs. Sparrow," said Giles on one of these occasions, "Carl
will get well. Tom talked to God today, and I don't believe that God will
refuse the little fellow what he wants."

It was on one of those visits that Billy, who was in the root cellar
under the warehouse, heard the lad's footsteps and, slipping upstairs,
listened to the prayer of his boy. These were his words: "Dear Father in
heaven, maybe you are tired of hearing me ask you for the same thing so
many times, but there is nothing else that I want; but I _do_ want Carl.
I would not have to ask my earthly father so often, if he could possibly
do it; but he isn't able. _You are able_ and, somehow, I can't
understand why you don't. Father and mother and I all love Carl; he is
one of us; and what would the bishop do without him? And now, dear
Father, I'm going back to the house to see if he isn't better. I know
you will do it. Amen."

The two prelates sat in the resident bishop's study. "There is a sample
of my secretary's work," said Bishop Albertson, as he handed an account
book to his friend, "and it is as accurate as it is beautiful."

Bishop McLaren started when his eyes fell upon the ledger. After a
moment's hesitancy he remarked: "Never but in one instance have I seen as
fine work. That was the writing of my own dear boy;