ough the hearts of the boys. Mr. Porson would
never have spoken thus had not the news been serious indeed.

When he paused Ned gave a little gasp and exclaimed, "My father!"

"Yes, Ned, I am grieved to say that it is your brave father who has
suffered from the accident. It seems that as he was walking down the
High Street one of Ramsay's heavy wagons came along. A little girl ran
across the street ahead, but stumbled and fell close to the horses. Your
father, forgetful of the fact of his wooden leg, rushed over to lift
her; but the suddenness of the movement, he being a heavy man, snapped
the wooden leg in sunder, and he fell headlong in the street. He was
within reach of the child, and he caught her by the clothes and jerked
her aside; but before he could, in his crippled condition, regain
his feet, the wheel was upon him, and he has suffered very serious
injuries."

"He is not dead, sir?" Ned gasped, while his brother began to cry
piteously.

"No, Ned, he is not dead," Mr. Porson said; "but I fear, my dear boy,
that it would be cruel kindness did I not tell you to prepare yourself
for the worst. I fear from what I hear that he is fatally injured, and
that there is but little hope. Get your hats, my boys, and I will walk
home with you at once."

There were but few words exchanged during that dismal walk, and these
were addressed by Mr. Porson to Ned.

"Try to calm yourself, my boy," he said, putting his hand on his
shoulder, which was shaking with the boy's efforts to keep down his
convulsive sobs; "try and nerve yourselves for the sake of your father
himself, of your mother, and the little ones. The greatest kindness you
can show to your father new is by being calm and composed."

"I will try, sir," Ned said as steadily as he could; "but you don't know
how I loved him!"

"I can guess it, my boy; for I, too, lost my father when I was just your
age. God's ways are not our ways, Ned; and be sure, although you may not
see it now, that he acts for the best."

A little crowd stood gathered near the door. They were talking in low
tones of the gallant way in which the crippled officer had sacrificed
himself to save the child. They made way silently for the boys to pass.
Ned opened the door and entered.

Abijah was in the hall. She was tearless, but her face was white and
set.

"My poor boy," she said to Ned, "he is in the parlor; he has just been
asking for you. I am glad you have come. Your mother is in hysteri