He knew Doctor R--instantly.

How strong a hope sprang up in his heart--the hope of hearing from or being taken back to his mother! The kind-hearted physician needed no words to tell him that the little boy was suffering acutely.

The flushed face, the starting eye, and the corrugation of the brow, were language which he understood as plainly as spoken words.
"What ails you, my little boy!" he said in a voice of tender concern.
The feelings of Henry softened under the warmth of true sympathy expressed in the countenance and tone of Doctor R--, and still looking him steadily in the face, essayed, but in vain, to answer the question.
"Are you sick, my boy ?" asked the doctor, with real and increasing concern for the poor child.
"My feet hurt me so that I can hardly walk," replied Henry, whose tongue at last obeyed his efforts to speak.
"And what ails your feet ?" asked Doctor R--.
"They've been frosted, sir." "Frosted, indeed! poor child! Well, what have you done for them ?" "Nothing--only I greased them sometimes at night; and to-day my master made me stand in the snow." "The cruel wretch!" muttered Doctor R--between his teeth.

"But can't you walk up as far as the drug store at the corner, and let me see your feet ?" continued the doctor.
"Yes, sir" replied the child, though he felt that to take another step was almost impossible.
"You'll come right up, will you," urged the doctor.
"Yes, sir," returned Henry, in a low voice.
"Then I'll wait for you.

But come along as quickly as you can;" and so saying, the doctor drove off.