“Martha, has Harry come home,” said the little sister, standing in her white night-dress at the door of the small bed-closet which opened from their parlour. The child’s eyes were bright and wide open, as if, in her compulsory solitude in the closet, she had been steadily fixing them to keep herself awake. “When I looked out I saw a gentleman. And where’s Rose and Agnes, Martha. Is Harry no weel?” “You must go to bed, Violet,” said Martha. “Poor Harry has got a broken leg. He was in the Trongate to-night with the Buchanans, and saved a child’s life--but you cannot see him to-night--the doctor is with him just now, poor fellow; go to bed--you shall see him to-morrow.” Little Violet began to cry, and the dark bewildered wide open eyes looked up inquiringly into Martha’s face. Violet knew that Harry did not need to be in the Trongate with the Buchanans, and that they all waited for him very long before they would take their humble cup of tea. “He will not be able to go out for a long time, Violet--and he saved the bairn’s life,” said Martha, as she put her little sister into the dark closet bed, which she herself and Rose shared, “and you must not cry--rather be thankful that the little boy’s mother has not lost him, Lettie, and ask God to bless poor Harry--poor Harry! do you know you should always think of him, Violet, when you pray?” “And so I do, Martha,” said little Violet, looking up through her tears as she clung to her elder sister, the only mother she had ever known. “Then you must let me go to him now, poor fellow,” said Martha. “Hush! he will hear you crying--lie still, Lettie, and fall asleep.” One of Violet’s tears rested on Martha’s faded cheek--other tears came as she wiped it away. “Poor bairn--poor bairn,” said the elder sister, “I might be her mother--and so I am.” When she entered the sick-room, the surgeon was just preparing to leave it. He had set the broken bone, and done all that could be done to give his patient ease. Harry, greatly exhausted, and deadly pale, was lying quiet, not strong enough to express even his suffering by more than a faint groan--and his wife and Rose watched anxiously beside him. But Harry’s mind was very much at ease, and tranquil. His accident covered triumphantly any error he had committed, and his anxious attendants were tranquil and satisfied too--for who could think of Harry’s fault or weakness, when Harry’s generous bravery had brought him so much pain. They were content to believe--and they did believe, poor eager loving hearts! that no one else could have been so daring--no one else had so little thought of personal safety--and were saying, with tears in their eyes, what a providence it was for the child and its mother, that “our Harry,” and no other, was there to rescue it. “I am to sit up with him, Martha,” said the little wife. “But there is the baby, Agnes,” said Rose; “you must let me sit up with Harry.”