ng at
that very moment toward the slowly-opening door and grasping the hand of
a tall stately man with dreamy eyes, who seemed to be looking the
question, "May I come in."

"Yes, yes; come in, professor," whispered the doctor, and he introduced
me to Hal's teacher and friend, Wilmur Benton. Then offered him the only
remaining chair.

The professor seated himself quietly, and raising his dreamy brown eyes
said, "Will he live?"

The doctor smiled and bowed a positive "yes" as he said:

"The crisis is past, care and patience now."

At this moment Hal awoke, and this time more naturally than before. He
was quiet, looked upon us all with the clear light of reason in his
eyes, and would have talked if it had been allowed. He wanted us all
close to him, and smiled as he held tightly Louis' hand in one of his,
and with the other grasped that of Professor Benton, to lay both
together in a silent introduction. I think Hal felt that Louis had saved
his life, and he clung to his hand as a drowning man would to a life
preserver. One sweet full hour passed over us, and the doctor made
preparation to leave him, whispering to me:

"The young man you brought to your brother is giving him wonderful
strength, and he must leave him only long enough to rest a little. The
crisis is past and the victory won."

And here began and ended a wonderful lesson in life.

CHAPTER VI.

A QUESTION AND A PROBLEM.

The details of our stay in Chicago as a whole would be uninteresting,
and I would not weary the reader with them. Hal improved so rapidly that
on the fourth day after our arrival, he was carried in comparative
comfort to Mr. Hanson's residence, and placed for a few days in a
pleasant chamber to gather strength for our journey home. One little
incident I must tell you, connected with my introduction to Mr. Hanson's
family. We were seated at the supper table, talking of Hal, his sickness
and the cause of it, when Daisy, a five-year-old daughter, spoke
quickly, "Mamma, mamma, she looks just like the 'tree lady,' only she
don't have her sewing."

I did not realize it as the child spoke, but when Mrs. Hanson chided the
little one, saying, "Daisy must learn not to tell all her little
thoughts," it all came so clearly, and I trembled visibly; yes, I guess
it was rather more than visible, since an unfortunate tilt in my chair,
an involuntary effort of trying to poise brain and body at once, upset
cup and saucer and plate, and bef