And with a wink that meant volumes, Ben conveyed himself away, walking on tip-toe, as if afraid of waking a sleeper to whom sleep might mean life or death. "Now, Tom, you've got to eat this just now," said Dorothy, "wait till I see if it's cool enough," and she touched the lip of the spoon with hers and affected to taste the odorous compound with the air of a connoisseur. "It's just nice, sir, and if that doesn't cure you, nothing will." "I could drink a bucketful," protested Tom. Couldn't I have a chop or a steak? I'm as hungry as a hunter.'' "Chop, indeed! I should think not. Later on you shall have a cup of chicken-broth and the weest slice of toast. You've no idea how ill you are." Dorothy spoke lightly, but suddenly the woman gushed into her eyes, and it was a poor, faltering voice that said, "But you're better now, thank God. Oh! Tom, if you had died!" "Would you have cared very much, Dorothy?" asked Tom. "Is that what you call eating arrowroot, sir? Listen, that's uncle. How soon he's back." Dorothy had gone to the window and drawn aside the curtains. "The horse is covered with foam, and uncle looks ten years younger and as glad as a bridegroom." A quick step was heard on the stairs, and Jabez Tinker stood at the door of the sick-room. "Is he awake, Dorothy?" whispered Mr. Tinker. "Awake, yes, and likely to be, as far as I can see, what with one and another. Call this a sick-room. Better call it a show and charge for admission. It takes one maid's time to attend to the door. If Mr. Brooke doesn't send in a bill for a new knocker and fresh paint, he's a saint." "There, there, chatterbox," exclaimed Jabez, gaily. "Out you go, Dorothy, and don't come up again till I ring. Then you may come, no one else." Mr. Tinker looked radiant, and, as Dorothy had said, younger by ten good years. In his impatience he almost pushed his niece from the room. Then he strode to the bed and held out both his hands to Tom. "It's true, Tom, it's true, every word of it. Oh! that ever I should live to see this day. I've dreamed of it, I've prayed for it, and now it has come to me, this my great joy, out of the deep waters. Truly God moves in a mysterious way." Tom had risen to a sitting posture. Jabez flung a loose shawl--it was Dorothy's--over his shoulders. "You mustn't risk taking cold," he said, very gently. "Are you quite sure you feel strong enough to hear a rather long story, Tom, or would you rather wait?" "I would rather hear it now, sir." "Then hear me to the finish and don't judge me too harshly. God knows I've suffered enough without your condemnation. But it might have been worse, it might have been worse." Mr. Tinker was silent for a time, as if to arrange his thoughts or choose his words. Then very gravely he spoke: