street on which the office is situated was the Reverend Mr. Davis. He stopped to address the doctor. “Was that Mr. Taylor?” “Yes; this is a blow for him.” Mr. Davis’ voice insensibly sank to a whisper. “My wife tells me that he did not know of Janey’s death and sickness until he arrived here. He thought it was Mary Ann who died; he went to her mother’s thinking so.” “Mrs. Brewster is a fool,” was the complimentary rejoinder of the doctor. “She is in some things,” warmly assented the pastor. “The telegram she sent was so obscurely worded as to cause him to assume that it was Mary Ann.” “Well, she is only heaping burdens on her conscience,” rejoined the doctor in a philosophic tone, “she has lost Janey through want of care, as I firmly believe, in not keeping her out of the way of the infection, she prevented their last meeting through not writing to him, she--” “He could not have saved her had he been here,” interrupted Mr. Davis. “Nobody said he could; there would have been satisfaction in it for him though, and for her, too, poor child.” Mr. Davis did not contest the point, he was so very practical a man that he saw little use in last interviews; unless they were made productive of actual good he was disposed to regard such as bordering on the sentimental. “I have been over to see Bangs,” he remarked. “They sent to the house after me while I was after mail; the boy said he did not believe he would live through the night and wanted the parson. I had a great mind to send word back that if he was in want of a parson he should have seen him before.” “He’s as likely to live through this night as he has been any night for the last six months,” said the doctor. “Not a day since then but what he has been as likely to die as not.” “And never to awaken to a thought that it might be desirable to make ready for the journey until the twelfth hour,” exclaimed the parson. “‘When I have a convenient season I will call for thee.’ If I have been to see him once I have been twenty times,” asserted the pastor, “and never could get him to pray. He wilfully put off all thought of death until the twelfth hour and then sends for me or one of my brethren and expects one hour’s devotion will ensure his entrance into heaven. I don’t keep the keys.” “Did Bangs send for you or did the family?” inquired the doctor. “He, I expect; he was dressed for the occasion.” “Will he live long?” “It is uncertain; he may last for six months or a year and he may die next week; it will be sudden when it does come.” The pastor walked away at a brisk rate. Mrs. Davis was out of the room talking with some late applicant when he arrived at home. Laying aside her wrap Mrs. Davis seated herself before the fire in a quiet merino dress, the blaze flickering on her face betrayed to the keen glance of the pastor that her eyelashes were wet. “Grieving about Janey, I suppose?” his tone a stern one. “Well,” continued the pastor, “she is better off.