me's thin
face grew more and more worn, and Hinton's heart ached as he watched it.
He felt more and more compunctions as to his own conduct. These
feelings were to be quickened into activity by a very natural
consequence which occurred just then.

Little Harold's life was spared, and neither Daisy nor the baby had
taken the fever. So far all was well. Doctor H----, too, had ceased his
visits, and the little invalid was left to the care of the first doctor
who had been called in. Yes, up to a certain point Harold's progress
towards recovery was all that could be satisfactory. But beyond that
point he did not go. For a fortnight after the fever left him his
progress towards recovery was rapid. Then came the sudden standstill.
His appetite failed him, a cough came on, and a hectic flush in the pale
little face. The child was pining for a change of air, and the father's
and mother's purse had been already drained almost to emptiness by the
expenses of the first illness. One day when Doctor Watson came and felt
the feeble, too rapid pulse he looked grave. Mrs. Home followed him from
the room.

"What ails my boy, doctor? He is making no progress, none whatever."

"Does he sleep enough?" asked Doctor Watson suddenly.

"Not well; he coughs and is restless."

"Ah! I am sorry he has got that cough. How is his appetite?"

"He does not fancy much food. He has quite turned against his beef-tea."

Doctor Watson was silent.

"What is wrong?" asked Mrs. Home, coming nearer and looking up into his
face.

"Madam, there is nothing to alarm yourself with. Your boy has gone
through a most severe illness; the natural consequences must follow. He
wants change. He will be fit to travel by easy stages in a week at
latest. I should recommend Torquay. It is mild and shielded from the
spring east winds. Take him to Torquay as soon as possible. Keep him
there for a month, and he will return quite well."

"Suppose I cannot?"

"Ah! then----" with an expressive shrug of the shoulders and raising of
the brows, "my advice is to take him if possible. I don't like that
cough."

Doctor Watson turned away. He felt sorry enough, but he had more acute
cases than little Harold Home's to trouble him, and he wisely resolved
that to think about what could not be remedied, would but injure his own
powers of working. Being a really kind-hearted man he said to himself,
"I will make their bill as light as I can when I send it in." And then
he forgot t