"Yes," Mr. Wade continued; "and, as it will cost you more to be sick,
we will raise your wages to four dollars a week. What do you say,
Wade?"

"Certainly," replied the junior, warmly.

There was no possible excuse for fretting now. With so many kind
friends around him, he had no excuse for fretting; but his human
nature rebelled at his lot, and he made himself more miserable than
the pain of his wound could possibly have made him. Mrs. Flint, who
sat all night by his bedside, labored in vain to make him resigned to
his situation. It seemed as though the great trial of his lifetime had
come--that which he was least prepared to meet and conquer.

The next day he was very feverish. His head ached, and the pain of his
wound was very severe. His moral condition was, if possible, worse
than on the preceding night. He was fretful, morose, and unreasonable
towards those kind friends who kept vigil around his bedside. Strange
as it may seem, and strange as it did seem to himself, his thoughts
seldom reverted to the little angel. Once, when he thought of her
extended on the bed of pain as he was then, her example seemed to
reproach him. She had been meek and patient through all her
sufferings--had been content to die, even, if it was the will of the
Father in heaven. With a peevish exclamation, he drove her--his
guardian angel, as she often seemed to him--from his mind, with the
reflection that she could not have been as sick as he was, that she
did not endure as much pain as he did. For several days he remained in
pretty much the same state. His head ached, and the fever burned in
his veins. His moral symptoms were not improved, and he continued to
snarl and growl at those who took care of him.

"Give me some cold water, marm; I don't want your slops," fretted he,
when Mrs. Flint brought him his drink.

"But the doctor says you mustn't have cold water." It was twenty-five
years ago.

"Confound the doctor! Give me a glass of cold water, and I will--"

The door opened then, causing him to suspend the petulant words; for
one stood there whose good opinion he valued more than that of any
other person.

"Oh, Harry! I am so sorry to see you so sick!" exclaimed Julia Bryant,
rushing to his bedside.

She was followed by her father and mother; and Katy had admitted them
unannounced to the chamber.

"Julia! is it you?" replied Harry, smiling for the first time since
the assault.

"Yes, Harry; I hope you are better. When