"I'm all right," he whispered back, although his hollow eyes and cheeks told a tale that stole away all our hopes. We withdrew, and the door was slowly closed. Next morning as I was coming down from the dormitory I paused at Brush's door to listen. I heard footsteps moving about softly, then the door opened and one of the big girls came out with a white pitcher in her hand. I started to go on downstairs, when she called to me in a whisper, "Frank, go down to the spring and get some fresh water for Brush, will you, that's a good boy?" I took the pitcher and went quietly downstairs. As soon as I was outside the yard, I ran as hard as I could to the spring, glad at the prospect of a chance to see my friend again. Warren and Lester met me as I was coming up the hill. "Did you see him?" one of them asked. "No, but I'm going to," I answered. "Ask him if we can do anything for him?" said Lester. Just as I reached the head of the stairs the same big girl appeared. I handed her the pitcher; she took it and was about to enter the room, when I caught her arm. "Just let me take a look at Brush, will you?" I whispered. "No, Frank, I can't. Superintendent says to let nobody in." I heard a cough, then a feeble voice say pleadingly, "Maria, let him in, just a minute!" The girl looked cautiously around, then said to me, "Come, but don't let anybody see you. Don't stay long, be quick!" I stepped in, and a thin hand was stretched out to receive me. "I can't talk much, I'm so weak," said Brush. Overcome with emotion, I could not speak but stood holding his hot hand. The girl at the door moved uneasily. "Tell the boys I'm all right," said Brush. "They mustn't worry. Come nearer." I bent over him and he whispered, "To-night, when everybody is asleep, come down and see me. I want to talk to you when I'm alone." As night came on we four sat under the walnut-tree watching Brush's window. A candle was lit, then the curtain was drawn. Below in the dining-room, the large girls moved quietly to and fro, busy with their evening work. When this was finished, they gathered at the door, and softly sang that beautiful hymn, "Nearer my God to Thee." We joined in the chorus, the wind waiting the words to the broad skies. The singing came to a close; the dining-room lights were put out, and we were called to bed. As we knelt by the side of our beds to repeat the Lord's prayer, I could not keep back the tears that came, thinking of the emaciated little form that I was to see once more that night. One by one the boys fell asleep, and I alone, among the forty or fifty in that big room, remained awake. The clock down in Gray-beard's room struck eleven; the only sounds that came to my ears were those of the heavy breathing of the boys, the soughing of the wind through the trees, the rushing of the waters in the river, and now and then the calls of the wild geese, migrating in the night.