When Fanny and Eva came in with the child, he lay prostrate on the bed, and scarcely seemed to breathe. A great qualm of fear shot over Fanny for a second. His father had died of heart-disease. "Is he--dead?" she gasped to Eva. "No, of course he ain't," said Eva. "He's asleep; he's wore out. Andrew, Andrew, Andrew, wake up! She's found, Andrew; Ellen's found." But Andrew did not stir. "He is!" gasped Fanny, again. "No, he ain't. Andrew, Andrew Brewster, wake up, wake up! Ellen's here! She's found!" Fanny put Ellen down, and bent over Andrew and listened. "No, I can hear him breathe," she cried. Then she kissed him, and leaned her mouth close to his ear. "Andrew!" she said, in a voice which Eva and Ellen had never heard before. "Andrew, poor old man, wake up; she's found! Our child is found!" When Andrew still did not wake, but only stirred, and moaned faintly, Fanny lifted Ellen onto the bed. "Kiss poor father, and wake him," she told her. Ellen, whose blue eyes were big with fright and wonder, whose lips were quivering, and whose little body was vibrating with the strain of her nerves, laid her soft cheek against her father's rough, pale one, and stole a little arm under his neck. "Father, wake up!" she called out in her little, trembling, sweet voice, and that reached Andrew Brewster in the depths of his own physical inertness. He opened his eyes and looked at the child, and the light came into them, and then the sound of his sobbing filled the house and reached the people out in the yard, and an echo arose from them. Gradually the crowd dispersed. Jim Tenny, before he drove away, went to the door and spoke to Eva. "Anything I can do?" he asked, with a curious, tender roughness. He did not look at her as he spoke. "No; thank you, Jim," replied Eva. Suddenly the young man reached out a hand and stroked her rough hair. "Well, take care of yourself, old girl," he said. Eva went to her sister as Jim went out of the yard. Ellen was in the sitting-room with her father, and Fanny had gone to the kitchen to heat some milk for the child, whom she firmly believed to have had nothing to eat during her absence. "Fanny," said Eva. "Well?" said Fanny. "I can't stop; I must get some milk for her; she must be 'most starved." Fanny turned and looked at Eva, who cast down her eyes before her in a very shamefacedness of happiness and contrition. "Why, what is it?" repeated Fanny, staring at her. "I've got Jim back, I guess, as well as Ellen," said Eva, "and I'm going to be a good woman." After all the crowd of people outside had gone, the little nervous boy raced into the Brewster yard with a tin cup of chestnuts in his hand. He knocked at the side door, and when Fanny opened it he thrust them upon her. "They're for her!" he blurted out, and was gone, racing like a deer. "Don't you want the cup back?" Fanny shouted after him.