"You did, Daddy Blossom!" Pippin advanced and took the hand that was plucking nervously at the coverlet. "You heard Pippin, and now you see him! Well! well! And who ever thought of meetin' up with you here, Daddy? And sick, too! but if I had to _be_ sick, I wouldn't ask no pleasanter place--" He turned to smile at Jacob Bailey, but Jacob had disappeared, and the door was closing softly. "Pardoned out!" whispered the old man in his weak fretful voice. "Pardoned out, 'count of age and sickness. I ain't a well man, Pippin; my vitals is all perished; but that ain't what I want to say. I want you to help me! Say you'll help me, Pippin! I was always friends with you over There--" he nodded vaguely--"and now I'm old and sick, you'll help me, won't you?" "Sure!" Pippin drew a stool beside the bed and sat down. "Put a name to it, Old Man! What can I do for you?" "Find my little gal, Pippin, my Mary: you rec'lect her? Sure you do! She used to bring me candy, and poke it in betwixt the bars with her little hand--flowers too, she'd bring: sure you rec'lect little Mary, Pippin?" Pippin did not, but there was no need of saying so. "What about her, Old Man?" "I want her! I ain't a well man, nor yet I ain't goin' to be well, and I want my little gal; I want you to find her, Pippin, and bring her to me." "Sure!" said Pippin comfortably. "Where would I be likely--" "I don't know!" cried the old man wildly. "That--" he gave a brief and vivid sketch of his wife's character--a wholly inaccurate sketch--"never would tell me where she sent her. She died herself, and a good job, too, and she sent word to me that Mary was well and doin' well, but now she'd got shet of me she was goin' to keep her shet. Now what a way that was to talk to a father! If little Mary knowed where I was, she'd come like a shot, but she don't know, nor I don't know--You find her, Pippin! You rec'let the little gal: you'll find her, won't you?"