With a heavy heart the Boy watched him ride away as the sun rose over the eastern hills. The doctor's last words sank into his soul. She was in God's hands! Well, he would go to God and beg Him to save her. He went into the woods, knelt behind a great oak and in the simple words of a child asked for the desire of his heart. Three times every day and every night he prayed. For four days no change was apparent. She was very weak and tired, but suffered no pain. His prayer was heard and would be answered! The first symptom of failure in circulation, he promptly met by placing the hot stones to her feet. And for hours he and Sarah would rub her until the cold disappeared. On the morning of the seventh day she was unusually bright. "Why, you're better, Ma, aren't you?" he cried with joy. Her eyes were shining with a strange excitement: "Yes. I'm a lot better. I'm going to sit up awhile. I'm tired lying down." She threw herself quickly on the side of the bed and her feet touched the bear-skin rug. She rose trembling and smiling and took a step. She tottered a bit, but the Boy was laughing and holding her arm. She reached the chair by the fire and he wrapped a great skin about her feet and limbs. "Look, Pa, she's getting well!" the Boy shouted. Tom watched her gravely without reply. She took the Boy's hand, still smiling: "I had such a wonderful dream," she began slowly--"the same one I had before you were born, my Boy. God had answered my prayer and sent me a son. I watched him grow to be a strong, brave, patient, wise and gentle man. Thousands hung on his words and the great from the ends of the earth came to do him homage. With uncovered head he led me into a beautiful home with white pillars. And then he bowed low and whispered in my ear: 'This is yours, my angel mother. I bought it for you with my life. All that I am I owe to you'----" Her voice sank to a whisper that was half a sob and half a laugh. "See how she's smiling, Pa," the Boy cried. "She's getting well!" "Don't ye understand!" the father whispered. "Look--at her eyes--she's not tellin' you a dream--she's looking through the white gates of heaven--it's Death, Boy--it's come--Lord God, have mercy!" With a groan he dropped by her side and her thin hand rested gently on his shaggy head. The Boy stared at her in agonizing wonder as she felt for his hand and feebly held it. She was gazing now into the depths of his soul with her pensive hungry eyes. "He good to your father, my son----" she paused for breath and looked at him tenderly. She knew the father was the child of the future--this Boy, the man. "Yes!" he whispered. "And love your sister----" "Yes." "Be a man among men, for your mother's sake----" "Yes, Ma, I will!" The little head bent low and the voice was silent.