. I may need a pilot."

It was a mid-April day; but spring was late, and every thing looked
bleak to Jack after his Southern sojourn. Certainly it was quite
different from the trim little town of Jack's boyhood. The blight of
poverty and thriftlessness had fallen upon it. There were piles of
refuse in the streets, still half frozen; there were muddy stoops and
shabby hall-doors, and broken area-palings, and now and then a window
patched up with paper or rags. For though there may be much high
theorizing and preaching on the two or three exceptional men who have
lifted themselves out of dens of poverty, and come through great
tribulation, there are thousands who work out nothing but blind
destruction and utter shipwreck, and who in frantic efforts for
salvation drag down those nearest and dearest, as a drowning man may
clutch at his own brother.

"Not very inviting," apologized Maverick; "but I have two calls to make
here in Boyd's Row,--old rookeries that ought to have been pulled down
long ago, but I suppose they still bring in Boyd considerable. I have
made a complaint about the drains: they are enough to breed a
pestilence. Tom Byrne has three children down with scarlet-fever. Two of
them will be carried out presently, but I hope to save the little girl.
No--I won't take you in."

"Tom Byrne--he was a mill-hand. And I know his wife well. Yes,
Maverick." And Jack followed him.

It was a two-story cottage with three rooms on a floor, and two families
occupying it. The Byrnes were up-stairs.

The two beds were in the front room, for the middle one was dark. There
was a well-worn carpet on the floor, and the furniture very poor. Jenny
Byrne had sold her best to pay the quarter's rent in the last place
which they had left the first of January, the landlord preferring it
should stand empty. Her little savings had been swept away by the bank
disaster: there was no work, and three children to feed, except that
Deacon Boyd found Tom sufficient employment to pay his rent.

On one bed close by the window lay the little girl, heavy-eyed and
crimson. The elder boy had come to the stupor that precedes death, the
other was restless with a half delirium. Jenny Byrne's round rosy cheeks
had vanished, and her eyes had a distraught look, the lurking fear of
coming woe. She stared at Jack a moment, then stretched out her hand,
but as quickly withdrew it.

"Did you tell him, doctor? O Mr. Darcy!"

"Yes. He _would_ come."

She