“Why, a certain English magazine I was reading, the other day, was disposed to assign it to the date of the Greek Kalends; but I don’t feel so sure about that,” said Ernest Clare. “Though it might be correct enough for England providing America had never been discovered. John Bull is a conservative animal; he has been beaten and pulled alternately by the horns and tail until he has learned to say ‘A;’ and is now fully persuaded that ‘A’ is the only correct thing to say; and that any one who says ‘B’ is revolutionary, immoral, and un-English. But Brother Jonathan, once he has learned to say ‘A,’ is more than half prepared to say ‘B,’ and will be positively eager about the remainder of the alphabet; so ‘the coming of the Coqcigrues’ may be nearer than we dream,” he ended, smiling. “May I go in to see Freddy?” asked Louis, turning to Alice. “He will be glad to see you,” she said. “His father is with him now. No, Louis, I fear he is no better. If he would like to see Mr. Clare, you had better leave him. It flusters him to have more than one or two persons in the room.” It was evident that Freddy and the Ark of the Covenant would soon part for this world, though he lay still, propped with pillows, upon its friendly bosom, white and shadowy, only the great brown eyes full of life and gladness. Freddy had had a long attack of lung-fever, from which, though the disease had been broken, he had no strength to rally. For a time he had seemed better, then he began to fade, slowly and painlessly, like a flower; but also with conscious gladness, impossible to a flower. He welcomed his friend with a smile and feeble outstretched hand; but not till Dr. Richards had left them came the whisper, “Have you seen her, Louis? Isn’t she pretty?” “Prettier than ever,” said Louis. “Shall I sing to you, old fellow? or will you see Mr. Clare?” “I want _you_,” said Freddy. “I want to tell you that I am glad to have seen her again before I die, and doubly glad to die now that I have seen her.” “Do you—oh, no! Freddy!—you don’t love her _too_?” “I think I should if I wasn’t going to die,” said Freddy, smiling. “Sing now, old fellow. Sing the ‘Land o’ the Leal.’” So Louis sang—though it was a difficult task—song after song, in his sweet tenor voice, until those in the outer room hushed their talk to listen, and Freddy fell fast asleep with the tender notes echoing still in his ear. For it is never “woe” to those who are vanquished by the Cross. CHAPTER V. AN EXPERIMENT.