hot water for me."

"What is it, Doctor?" cried Shorty anxiously.

"Go quick!" The doctor's voice was so sharp and stern that before Shorty
knew, he was half way downstairs with the hot-water bottles. With swift,
deft movements the doctor went about his work.

"Ah, that's right. Now, Shorty, hold the light again. Now the antitoxin.
It's hours, days, too late, perhaps, hardly any use with this mixed
infection, but we'll try it. There. Now we'll touch up his heart. Poor
chap, he can't swallow. We'll give it to him this way." Again he
filled his syringe from another bottle and gave the sick man a second
injection. "There. That ought to help him a bit. Now, what fool sent a
man in this condition twenty miles through a storm like this? Shorty,
don't let that teamster go away without seeing me. Have him in here
within an hour." Shorty turned to go. "Wait. Do you know this man's
name?"

"I heard Tommy call him Scotty Anderson. He's from the old country, I
think."

"All right. Now, go and get the teamster."

The doctor turned to his struggle with death. "There is no chance, no
chance. The fools! The villains! It's sheer murder!" he muttered, as he
strove moment by moment to bring relief to the sick man fighting to get
his breath.

After working with him for half an hour the doctor had the satisfaction
of seeing him begin to breathe more easily. But by that time he had
given up all hope of saving the man's life. And it seemed to increase
his rage to see his patient slipping away from him. For do what he
could, the heart was failing rapidly and the doctor saw that it was
simply a matter of minutes. Before the hour had elapsed the dying man
opened his eyes and looked about. The doctor turned up the light and
leaned over him, trying to make out the words which poor Scotty was
making such painful efforts to utter. But no words could he hear.
Finally the dying man pointed to the chair on which his clothes lay.

"You want something out of your pocket?" inquired the doctor. The eyes
gave assent. One by one the doctor held up the articles he found in the
pockets of the clothing till he came to a letter, then the eyes that had
followed every movement expressed satisfaction.

"Do you want me to read it?"

It was from the mother to her son Andy in far Canada, breathing
gratitude for gifts of money from time to time, pride in his well doing,
love without measure, and prayers unceasing. It took all the doctor's
fortitude to keep