He could not put into words his fear and dread of the time when he must go out into some Home where he would be only one of a hundred boys and all alone in a big lonesome world. That was the black dread that weighed on Jim's heart night and day. He had seen that long procession of girls and boys from the Orphan Asylum going back from church on Sundays, the girls all in white dresses, the boys in blue denim suits, all just alike except for size. He had peeped through knotholes in the high fence that surrounded the Asylum yard too, and had seen the boys playing there on weekdays; and some not playing, but standing off by themselves looking so awful lonesome. Jim had always pitied those lonesome-looking ones. More than once he had poked a stick of chewing-gum through a knothole to one of them--a little chap with frightened blue eyes. Jim felt that he'd almost rather die than go to the Asylum; and he'd heard the nurse tell Charley Smith's mother that he'd have to go there when he got well. That was why Jim was in no hurry to get well. The girls all shook hands with him before they went off to search the other wards for their blue-eyed baby. Miss Laura did not go with the girls; she stayed with Jim, and somehow, before long, he was telling her all about the Asylum boys and how he dreaded to get well and go there to live till he was fourteen. And, unconsciously, as he told it all, his stubby little fingers crept into Miss Laura's hand that closed over them with a warm pressure very comforting to Jim. And then--then a wonderful thing happened, for Miss Laura put her head down close to his and whispered, "Jim, you shall never go to the Asylum, I promise you that. If you will try very hard to get well, I'll find a home for you somewhere, and I'll take care of you until you can take care of yourself." Jim caught his breath and his eyes seemed looking through hers deep into her heart, to see if this incredible thing could be true. What little colour there was in his face faded slowly out of it and his lips quivered as he whispered, "You--you ain't--jest foolin'? You mean it, honest Injun?" "Yes, Jim--honest." He struggled to a sitting posture. "Cross your heart!" he ordered breathlessly. She made the sign that children make. "Cross my heart, Jim. You are my boy now," she said. With a long, happy breath Jim fell back on his pillow. His eyes began to shine, and a spot of red burned in each thin cheek. "O gee!" he cried exultantly, and again, "O _gee_! I'll get well in a hurry now, Miss Laura." Then eagerly, "Where'll I live?" "I don't know yet. I'll find a place," she promised. He nodded, happily content just then to leave that in her hands. "An' I'll grow big soon," he crowed, "and I can earn a lot of money when I'm well, carryin' papers an'--an' other ways. An' you'll let me be a Boy Scout soon's I'm big enough, an' a soldier when I get over being lame?"