when he arrived. He
did not eat anything, and--the doctor is coming to see him."

Mr. Clark's face expressed the deepest concern.

"He has been working too hard," he said, shaking his head. "He ought to
have let me go over those accounts. With all he has to carry!"

"Yes, sir, that's it," said James, heartily.

"Well, don't you think I'd better go up and see him?" asked the old
clerk, solicitously. "I might be able to suggest something?"

"No, sir. He said quite positive he would not see _anybody_." James
looked the clerk full in the face. "I was afraid something might 'ave
'appened down in the--ah--?"

Mr. Clark's face lit up with a kindly light.

"No, indeed. It's nothing like that, James. We never had so good a year.
You can make your mind easy about that."

"Thank you, sir," said the servant. "We'll have the doctor drop in to
see him, and I hope he'll be all right in the morning. Snowy night,
sir."

"I hope so," said Mr. Clark, not intending to convey his views as to the
weather. "You'll let me know if I am wanted--if I can do anything. I
will come around first thing in the morning to see how he is. I hope
he'll be all right. Good-night. A merry Christmas to you."

"Good-night, sir. Thankee, sir; the same to you, sir. I'm going to wait
up to see how he is. Good-night, sir."

And James shut the door softly behind the visitor, feeling a sense of
comfort not wholly accounted for by the information as to the successful
year. Mr. Clark, somehow, always reassured him. The butler could
understand the springs that moved that kindly spirit.

What Mr. Clark thought as he tramped back through the snow need not be
fully detailed. But at least, one thing was certain, he never thought of
himself.

If he recalled that a mortgage would be due on his house just one week
from that day, and that the doctors' bills had been unusually heavy that
year, it was not on his own account that he was anxious. Indeed, he
never considered himself; there were too many others to think of. One
thought was that he was glad his friend had such a good servant as James
to look after him. Another was pity that Livingstone had never known the
joy that was awaiting himself when at the end of that mile of snow he
should peep into the little cosy back room (for the front room was
mysteriously closed this evening), where a sweet-faced, frail-looking
woman would be lying on a lounge with a half-dozen little curly heads
bobbing about her. He kne