With this feeling in his heart, it is little wonder that the cripple faded fast, and that the medicine which Sarah Holl insisted upon his taking had no salutary effect. With his adopted parents he was always gentle and affectionate. He was as ready to help the children as formerly, as thoughtful and as unselfish, but the bright smile was gone; and Sarah Holl, as she looked up from her washing-tub at the quiet figure, with his work before him—but with his nimble fingers sometimes pausing awhile, while his thoughts were far away—would stop to wipe her eyes furtively with her checked apron. With a woman's discernment she had felt the reason of the change; the short cry, the ghastly pallor with which he had received the first news of Carry's flight; the wild outburst of passion; the subsequent quiet sadness, were enough for her. She knew then how he had worshipped Carry. She had communicated her thoughts to John, and had ordered the children never to allude to the subject of Carry's absence under pain of the severest punishment. And so the girl's name was never mentioned in the little house which her presence had so often brightened. One thing only of notability had occurred, and this had been of so extraordinary a kind, that it had upset all Mrs. Holl's calculation of time. Mr. Barton had made his usual call, and had evidently been struck with the great change which had taken place in James's appearance. He had not, however, spoken upon the subject, but had come again after only a month's interval, and had been palpably moved and excited at the sight of James's increasing weakness. He had even, when the others were talking, entered into a little private conversation with Mrs. Holl, and had inquired of her what was the cause of the illness of the cripple. Mrs. Holl had honestly told him that she did not know, and that the doctor, who had made two visits to the lad, had been unable to say what his ailment was. “Poor boy,” she added, “I fear he will not be with us long.” Mr. Barton had been palpably affected, and had promised to call again soon to see how his young friend was getting on. What was really passing in his mind, was evident from his conversation with his wife upon his return home, after two or three subsequent visits to the Holls,— “You have got away sooner than usual, Barton,” that lady said, when he entered. “Yes,” he said. “No use stopping.” “Is the boy worse?” she asked anxiously. “He is, Rachel. He is dying, there is no doubt about that. He may live a year or two; it all depends; but he is breaking up. Of course, the great question with us is, will he hold on till he is one-and-twenty? He wants nearly two years of it yet.”