feelings were to be quickened into activity by a very natural consequence which occurred just then. Little Harold's life was spared, and neither Daisy nor the baby had taken the fever. So far all was well. Doctor H----, too, had ceased his visits, and the little invalid was left to the care of the first doctor who had been called in. Yes, up to a certain point Harold's progress towards recovery was all that could be satisfactory. But beyond that point he did not go. For a fortnight after the fever left him his progress towards recovery was rapid. Then came the sudden standstill. His appetite failed him, a cough came on, and a hectic flush in the pale little face. The child was pining for a change of air, and the father's and mother's purse had been already drained almost to emptiness by the expenses of the first illness. One day when Doctor Watson came and felt the feeble, too rapid pulse he looked grave. Mrs. Home followed him from the room. "What ails my boy, doctor? He is making no progress, none whatever." "Does he sleep enough?" asked Doctor Watson suddenly. "Not well; he coughs and is restless." "Ah! I am sorry he has got that cough. How is his appetite?" "He does not fancy much food. He has quite turned against his beef-tea." Doctor Watson was silent. "What is wrong?" asked Mrs. Home, coming nearer and looking up into his face. "Madam, there is nothing to alarm yourself with. Your boy has gone through a most severe illness; the natural consequences must follow. He wants change. He will be fit to travel by easy stages in a week at latest. I should recommend Torquay. It is mild and shielded from the spring east winds. Take him to Torquay as soon as possible. Keep him there for a month, and he will return quite well." "Suppose I cannot?" "Ah! then----" with an expressive shrug of the shoulders and raising of the brows, "my advice is to take him if possible. I don't like that cough." Doctor Watson turned away. He felt sorry enough, but he had more acute cases than little Harold Home's to trouble him, and he wisely resolved that to think about what could not be remedied, would but injure his own powers of working. Being a really kind-hearted man he said to himself, "I will make their bill as light as I can when I send it in." And then he forgot the poor curate's family until the time came round for his next visit. Meanwhile Mrs. Home stood still for a moment where he had left her, then went slowly to her own room. "Mother, mother, I want you," called the weak, querulous voice of the sick child. "Coming in a moment, darling," she said. But for that one moment, she felt she must be alone. Locking her door she went down on her knees. Not a tear came to her eyes, not a word to her lips. There was an inward groan, expressing itself in some voiceless manner after this fashion,-- "My God, my God, must I go through the fiery furnace?" Then smoothing her hair, and forcing a smile back to her lips, she went back to her little son.