ment, which he ate to the sound of the surgeon's praises as sung
by Nero, who declared his master to be "De berry bestest doctah in all
de United States. Why, sah, he kin mos' raise de dead, and I 'low he
makes de lame to walk ebery day, and tinks nottin' ob it"; and, when he
finally left the house, it was with a fat roll of greenbacks snugly
tucked in his pocket.

This was the hour to which Christopher Bundy had been looking forward,
and he proceeded to make the most of it. Of course he went to the
theatre, and from a high gallery seat glowed and shivered in sympathy
with the hero on the boards, and he followed this up with an oyster-stew
in a gayly decorated and illuminated restaurant. But, strange to say, he
was not as happy as he should have been, and--it was very queer--the
features of "Limpy Jem" would keep rising before him, curiously
intermingled with those of the lame girl he had seen that day, while he
seemed to hear again a weak voice piping, "That's because you are so big
and strong, and your back isn't crooked and your legs all drawn up. I
must have the vapors," he concluded, as he tumbled into bed.

The following evening, when Kit stepped off the train at Benton, he was
met by a delegation of beach-combers, all shouting: "Hullo, old fellow!
Did you get the reward, sure enough? Goin' to stand treat now, ain't
yer? Ginger-pop and sodas for the crowd!" and insisted upon bearing him
off to drink his health at his expense.

"Wish poor Limpy was here too," remarked Ned Eaton, as he drained his
glass of sarsaparilla. "Does any one know how he is to-night?"

"Dreadful bad," answered Teddy Todd. "They think he's dyin'."

"What! Is he so sick as that?" and Kit's voice sounded sharp and
unnatural.

"Yes; he took cold that day before the storm; fever set in, and the
doctor says he won't get well."

* * * * *

It was nine o'clock, and the little seaside town was settling down to
sleepy repose, when a timid knock summoned Eileen to the Fergusons'
humble portal. Her eyes were red and swollen, as could be seen by the
blazing pine-knot she carried, and her lips quivered as she cried: "Kit
Bundy at this hour! What brings you here?"

"To see Jem. Stop, Eileen! Don't say I can't, for I must, indeed I must.
I know I've been mean to him and rude to you, but there is something I
must tell him before he dies."

There was so much wild anxiety in his manner and imploring in his tone
that t