If ever I wished to be a doctor, it was when I saw Mr. Carden with that poor sick man. He was so gentle with him, so cheery and so kind. Had Jake been a duke, I don't see that he could have been treated differently. There was something superior about the man, too, as though he had seen better days. "What is your name?" asked Mr. Carden. "James Winter, sir, a native of Herefordshire. I was on my way there when I was taken ill in this place." "What to do there? To get work?" "No, sir; to die. It don't much matter, though; God's here as well as there." "You are not a gipsy?" "Oh dear no, sir. From my dark skin, though, I've been taken for one. My wife's descended from a gipsy tribe." "We are thinking of placing you in the Infirmary, Jake," cried the Pater. "You will have every comfort there, and the best of attendance. This gentleman----" "We'll see--we'll see," interposed Mr. Carden, breaking in hastily on the promises. "I am not sure that the Infirmary will do for him." "It is too late, sir, I think," said Jake, quietly, to Mr. Carden. Mr. Carden made no reply. He asked the woman if she had such a thing as a tea-cup or wine-glass. She produced a cracked cup with the handle off and a notch in the rim. Mr. Carden poured something into it that he had brought in his pocket, and stooped over the man. Jake began to speak in his faint voice. "Sir, I'd not seem ungrateful, but I'd like to stay here with the wife and boy to the last. It can't be for long now." "Drink this; it will do you good," said Mr. Carden, holding the cup to his lips. "This close place is a change from the tent," I said to the woman, who was stooping over the bit of fire. Such a look of regret came upon her countenance as she lifted it: just as if the tent had been a palace. "When we got here, master, it was after that two days' rain, and the ground was sopping. It didn't do for _him_"--glancing round at the straw. "He was getting mighty bad then, and we just put our heads into this place--bad luck to us!" The Squire gave her some silver, and told her to get anything in she thought best. It was too late to do more that night. The church clocks were striking ten as we went out. "Won't it do to move him to the Infirmary?" were the Pater's first words to Mr. Carden. "Certainly not. The man's hours are numbered." "There is no hope, I suppose?" "Not the least. He may be said to be dying now." No time was lost in the morning. When Squire Todhetley took a will to heart he carried it out, and speedily. A decent room with an airy window was found in the same block of buildings. A bed and other things were put in it; some clothes were redeemed; and by twelve o'clock in the day Jake was comfortably lying there. The Pater seemed to think that this was not enough: he wanted to do more. "His humanity to my child kept him from seeing the last moments of his," said he. "The little help we can give him now is no return for that."