"Don't you think I am?
I don't--I don't know what I should have--done----" "You old Indian!" said Meredith, tenderly.
Three days later, Tom was rejoiced by symptoms of invigoration in his patient.

A telegram came for Harkless, and Meredith, bringing it into the sick room, was surprised to find the occupant sitting straight up on his couch without the prop of pillows.

He was reading the day's copy of the "Herald," and his face was flushed and his brow stern.
"What's the matter, boy ?" "Mismanagement, I hope," said the other, in a strong voice.

"Worse, perhaps.

It's this young Fisbee.