aly welcomed him and introduced
him to Mr. Daly as "that nice boy I told you about."

"And you are Willie's friend?" said Mr. Daly.

"Yes, I am glad to say."

"O, he was the good boy," continued Bill's father. "He should have had a
better chance!"

Frank said nothing.

Then the mother began, "Willie was all I had to live for these many
years, and now that his father's himself again, maybe God will take
away my boy. Oh, but it's a cruel world and hard to understand! But God
knows best."

"We are all going to Communion for him tomorrow," said Frank,
sympathetically. "When Father Boone told us that William was dangerously
ill, all the boys of the Club agreed to go to Holy Communion for him.
You know tomorrow's the First Friday."

"O, thank you, you are such good boys," she sighed.

Frank did not know whether to stay or go. Bill lay there unconscious,
muttering from time to time. His father and mother sat by the bed on
either side. Frank was standing. They were in a private room. Bill had
been moved from the ward after a visit from Mr. Roberts. Every comfort
that good nursing and attention could give was supplied. An automobile,
moreover, took Bill's parents to and from the hospital. Mr. Roberts had
told Mrs. Daly that as soon as her boy got well he would put him to
school and see him through to any profession he chose, and that he would
place Mr. Daly in a good position.

Mrs. Daly told all this to Frank as he stood looking down into the
patient's fevered face. "But now I suppose it's all over with Willie,"
she groaned, "God's ways are not our ways. His holy will be done! I told
Mr. Roberts about you, and how good you were to Willie and me. He said
he wants to see you. He will be down soon, so you must wait till he
comes."

"I shall be glad to," replied Frank.

Bill was tossing about a good deal and now he began a string of
incoherent words. His father and mother bent over him to see if they
could help him in any way. But he was only rambling. After a little
while, he began to speak again. "Dad, you'll never drink again, will
you? Dad, you'll be good to Ma, won't you?" Frank was about to retire
when Mrs. Daly beckoned to him to remain.

"Don't mind what he says, dear," she whispered. "He talks that way all
day." Then she added, the tears filling her eyes, "and what he says is
so often the truth. But sometimes he talks awful nonsense. Just before
you came, he was telling us about smashing tables and furnitur