“I am not in any danger. I beg you, sir, do not come in yet;” but her steady and rather threatening _glance_ said—“Do not dare to look upon the old man in his degradation!” Frank turned back, and went and perched himself at the top of the ladder to watch over the safety of the girl, and be ready in case of exigency. He saw the old man lying, clutching the cover around him, while his terror-dilated eyes glared out like a wild beast’s from its lair—all ready for another start and spring! He saw the girl mix a mug of strong vinegar and water, and take it to him, and the old man grasp and quaff it with fiery thirst; three times she filled the mug, and three times he gulped its contents with voracity. Then she laid his aged head tenderly down, and went and saturated a cloth with vinegar, and placed it about his burning forehead and temples. Next she took a rustic fan of turkey feathers and stood by him and fanned him until he fell into a sleep, that every moment became deeper and deeper. Finally she gently laid down the fan, sunk upon her knees by the bedside, and bowed her head upon her clasped hands in silent prayer. At last she arose, pressed a light kiss upon the furrowed brow of the sleeper, and silently went about her household work. From a shed at the back of the house she brought wood and water, made up the fire, filled and hung on the teakettle, set an oven and oven-lid to heat, and again disappeared through the back door into the shed. In about fifteen minutes she returned with a tray of dough and a pan of venison steaks. She made her dough into a loaf and put it in the oven to bake, and prepared her venison steaks to lay upon the coals. She set her table with milk and cream, and butter, brought in, doubtless from a rude, but cool spring-house, near at hand. When all was done, she sat down to knit, seeming to wait the coming of another—for she often paused and listened with her head turned towards the door, and at length got up and drew from under the bed a trunk, whence she took an old, well-patched but clean suit of homespun clothes, with a shirt and a pair of socks, and hung them over a chair. Soon after a step was heard without—the door was thrown open, and a thin, dark young man, dressed as a farm laborer, entered. Throwing his coarse hat to the other end of the room, he approached the fire, when seeing the situation of the old man he stopped short, and placing his arms akimbo, gazed on him, exclaiming— “Drunk again, by ——!” and then turned, with an interrogative look, towards the girl. A short wave of the hand—a quick, distressful nod, and the choking down of a sob, told him that it was so. The young man let down his arms, and with a frown of mingled sorrow and anger approached and gazed upon the sleeper. “Have you had much trouble with him, dear Kate?” The same choking sob and quick nod answered him. “_Where_ DID he get the liquor? What has he laid his hands on and sold now—any of my books?”