"Ruth, my sweet daughter!" he sobbed. "Father, dear!" "You must cheer up, my little one; I've come to help you." "You must not take it so hard, father. It will all come out for the best. God is not dead; He will not forget me. I'm a tiny mite in body, but you know I've a valiant soul. You must cheer up." She led him gently to a seat. "I'll bring the children now; they'll be wild with joy when I tell them grandfather is here." But at the sight of the children the old man broke completely down and sat with his great head sunk on his breast. He drew Ruth down and whispered: "Take them away, dear. It's too much. I--can't see them now." When she returned from the nursery, he said: "Come, Ruth, sit beside me and tell me about it, and I'll see my way clearer how to help you." She drew a stool beside his chair, leaned her head against his knee, took one of his hands in hers, and, while his other stroked her raven hair, she gently and without reproach told him all. When she had finished, his eyes were heavy with grief beyond the power of tears. "And my boy told you to--take--this--money, Ruth?" he slowly and sorrowfully asked. "Yes, father." "Do you know an honest lawyer, dear?" "Yes; an old friend of mine, Morris King." "Call him over your telephone immediately, and take me to your desk. My fortune is not large, as the world reckons wealth--perhaps fifty thousand dollars carefully saved during the past thirty years of frugal living. It shall be yours, my dear." "But, father, you must not take it from yourself in your age!" "Are you not my beloved daughter? And do not your babies call me grandfather? It's such a poor little thing I can do. I've enough in bank to last me to the journey's end, and I'll stay near to watch over you. I can have no other home now." The lawyer came within an hour, and the will was duly witnessed. He handed it to Ruth and she kissed and thanked him. He wandered about the house in a helpless sort of way for half an hour, sighing. His great shoulders for the first time in his long life lost their military bearing and drooped heavily. Ruth watched him pace slowly back and forth with his hands folded behind him, his head sunk in a stupor of dull pain, wondering what she could do or say to cheer him, when he suddenly stopped and sank into a heap on the floor. The doctor came and shook his head. "He may regain consciousness, Mrs. Gordon, but he cannot live." Ruth called the hotel and summoned Frank. He was out and did not get the message until five o'clock. When he reached the house, she was by the bedside. The old man was holding her hand and talking in a half-delirious way to his friends, explaining to them how impossible that these wild reports could be true about his son. Soon after Gordon came he regained consciousness. Taking him by the hand he said: