ell. Such cases are uncertain. He just needs rest--to give
up work for a while and stay at home. Recreation, diversion,
amusement--that's what he wants. Read to him; motor with him; walk with
him; keep him entertained. Things like that will do far more good than
medicine."

"But--but--I'm--I'm going away to-morrow for the rest of the summer,"
stammered Jean.

"Away? Humph! That's unfortunate."

"Why, you don't really think I am any use here, do you? Enough use to
remain, I mean," the girl inquired in surprise. "Uncle Tom doesn't--you
don't mean that he _needs_ me; that I could do good by staying?"

A flush overspread her face. That any one should need her! And most of
all such a big strong man as Uncle Tom. The idea was unbelievable.
Hitherto life had been a matter of what others should do for her. She
had been a child with no obligations save to do as she was told. Her
two uncles whom she loved so much had discussed her fate and decided
between them what her course should be. Now, all at once, there was no
pilot at the wheel. The directing of the ship fell to her guidance. In
the space of those few moments, as if by a miracle, Jean Cabot ceased
to be a child and became a woman.

"Mr. Curtis is very fond of you, isn't he?" asked the physician. "He
will miss you if you are not here, I am afraid. Who else is there in
the house to be a companion for him?"

"No one but Fraeulein, and of course she is getting older and is not
very strong."

"Unfortunate!" repeated the doctor.

"It is not at all necessary for me to go to-morrow," Jean said quickly.
"I can postpone it and stay here just as well as not, and I think it
would be much better if I did." She spoke with deepening conviction.
"I'll telegraph my uncle in Boston and explain to him that I cannot
leave just now."

What a deal of dignity stole into that single word "cannot."

At last there was a duty to fulfil toward some one else--some one who
really needed her. Jean repeated the amazing fact over and over to
herself. She had a place to fill. She and Uncle Tom had reversed their
obligations; he was now the weak one, she the strong.

With a happy heart the girl went back up-stairs.

Uncle Tom was lying very still in bed, his face turned away from the
door; but he heard her light step and put out his hand.

"My little girl," he whispered.

Jean slipped her soft palm into his.

"Did I wake you?"

"No, dear. I was not asleep. I cannot sleep these days. La