nt he entered, "I have been
giving Richard good advice, and I wish you to bear me out in it."

"Advising me to kill myself, he means!" said Richard.

"Humph! let's hear what it is all about, and see how much you are both
wrong!" answered the doctor, who had made that advance in philosophy
which recognizes that neither side in an argument is at all likely to
represent the whole truth.

"I have been telling him that he should go out, and bantering him to
ride with me to the Central Park," said John.

"And I have been telling him that I had not strength enough to ride a
single block, much less to the Central Park," said Richard.

"Let me see," said the doctor, taking the invalid's hand in his,
examining his pulse, and subjecting him to a general scrutiny. "The
proposal is a bold one, but I fancy that it is sensible, after all.
Yes, when you _can_ go out, you can go out to advantage, and I believe
that time has come. You had probably better accept your brother's
proposal."

The result of all which was, that the carriage was ordered between three
and four o'clock, and that in spite of the insufferable heat of the day
the two invalids (so very differently disabled) were driven to the
Central Park, were driven around it, heard Dodworth's Band perform half
a dozen operatic selections as only that cornet-band can perform them,
saw the loungers on the grass, the promenaders on the walks, the boats
on the pond which is called a lake, and all the picturesque features of
that Saturday-afternoon gathering which within the past two years has
become a pleasant feature of summer in the metropolis.

Richard Crawford did not experience the fatigue he had expected. On the
contrary he felt new life and vigor flowing in with every breath of the
yet early summer; and when they drove back to the house an hour before
sunset, he had the sensations of a school-boy whose play-hour is over
and who is just going back to school and his books. He was not only
better, but he was nearly well. He felt and realized the fact for the
first time. The wide, glorious, open world, with its flowers, its
waters, its sunshine, and its smiling human faces worth them all, had
once more called the man who had so lately believed himself shut away
from life and enjoyment forever; and he was answering the call.

Not that Richard Crawford was happy, even while the music was sounding
over the lake and nature was wooing him with her midsummer smile. He had
loved--