what he could do to be worthy of the exalted regard in which
he was held by his little sons. What wrong could he set right, to prove
himself really as noble as they thought him? He was their ideal of all
that was generous and manly, and yet--

"What have I ever done," he asked himself, "to make them think so? If I
were to be taken out of the world to-morrow, I would be leaving it
exactly as I found it. Who could point to my coffin and say, 'Laws are
better, politics are purer, or times are not so hard for the masses now,
because this one man willed to lift up his fellows as far as the might
of one strong life can reach?' But they will say that of Malcolm, and
Keith, if he lives--ah, if he lives!"

An hour later the door opened, and Malcolm came in, softly. "Keith is
asking for you, papa," he said, with a timid glance into his father's
haggard face. Then he came nearer, and slipped his hand into the man's
strong fingers, and together they went up the stairs to answer
the summons.

"Did you want me, Keith?"

The head did not turn on the pillow. The languid eyes opened only
half-way, but there was recognition in them now, and one little hand was
raised to lay itself lovingly against his father's cheek.

"What is it, son?"

The weak little voice tried to answer, but the words came only in gasps.
"Brother knows--about Jonesy--keep him from being a tramp! Please let
me, papa--do that much good--in my life 'else wherefore--born?'"

"What is it, Keith?" asked his father, bending over him. "Papa doesn't
exactly understand. But you can have anything you want, my boy.
Anything! I'll do whatever you ask."

"Malcolm knows," was the answer. Then the voice seemed somewhat
stronger for an instant, and a faint smile touched Keith's lips. "Give
my half of the bear to Ginger. Now--may I have--my--white--flower?"

Throwing back his coat, his father unpinned the little badge from his
vest, where he had fastened it for safe-keeping a short time before in
the library. A pleased expression flitted over the child's face, as he
saw where it had been resting, and when it was fastened in the front of
his little embroidered nightshirt, his hand closed over the pin as if it
were something very precious, and he were afraid of losing it again.

"Wearing the white flower," they heard him whisper, and then the little
knight slept.

* * * * *

It was hours afterward when he roused again,--hours when the faint