"It was under the walnut-tree," said Lester; "he was reading to us about Joseph, out of his little black Bible he always carries. He began to cough hard and choke; he dropped the book all covered with blood, and took hold of my brother's arm. I ran to tell the superintendent. Just as they carried Brush into the house, Edwin came back and we told him about it." In the evening, after the small boys had gone to bed, the' doctor came, a tall gray-haired man. At the gate he was met by the superintendent, and the two walked slowly up the steps, talking earnestly. We four had been watching for the doctor on the porch; as he came along we caught now and then a word, but we did not understand its meaning. We judged by the shaking of the doctor's head that he thought Brush's case was serious. Days passed; the doctor came and went; yet Brush's door was closed to us, nor had we any hopeful news of him. We missed him sadly; we missed his whittling, his harmless scolding; and our play was only half-hearted. Indians who came to the school on business missed his ready offer of help. There was no one to take his place; no one who could interpret for them as well as he. Each one, as he went away, left a word of cheer for the lad, with expressions of hope for his recovery. As school was dismissed one afternoon, the teacher gave special injunctions to the scholars not to make any noise as they passed out, or while moving about the house, so as not to disturb the sick boy. We four strolled toward the spring. Frost had come, and the leaves were beginning to turn red and yellow. Wild geese flew noisily overhead, fleeing from the coming winter to sunnier climes. While we were counting, as we often did, the gray birds, floating through the air like a great V, Warren suddenly exclaimed, "Say, boys, plums!" We looked at him inquiringly. "Let's go get plums for Brush!" he continued excitedly. Then we remembered that we had pre-empted a small grove of choice plum bushes at the head of the ravine, as against all the boys of the school, and acquired a right in it which even the Big Seven respected. Edwin ran to the kitchen and borrowed from one of the cooks a small tin pail. We hurried to our orchard, where we saw no signs of trespass; the bushes were laden with beautiful ripe fruit. We filled the little pail with the choicest, then each one picked for himself. It was nearly supper-time when we appeared at Brush's door. The three boys looked at me; so I tapped very gently, and the teacher who was nursing the sick boy opened the door. "We've brought some plums for Brush," I said, offering the tin pail. "That's very nice," said the lady, softly; "I will give them to him." She was about to close the door, when I whispered, "Can we take just a little look at him?" "Yes," she answered, throwing the door open. We four leaned forward and looked in. A smile lit up Brush's face as he saw us. "How are you now?" I asked, in a loud whisper.