hand upon the face of her child. It was indeed
as cold as ice, and alarmed the mother exceedingly. She knew not how
to act; she was alone in the cabin, and even had the old negro been at
home, she had no money to purchase medicines with. She was determined,
however, that something should be done for her child, and the thought
of again appealing to Mr. Swartz for assistance came into her mind.

"Perhaps, he will loan me a small sum of money when he learns how
destitute I am, and that my child is very ill," she said musingly, and
then added: "At any rate I will try what I can do with him."

Turning to Ella Mrs. Wentworth said: "Do you think you could remain
here with your brother until my return. I want to go out and get
something for you to take."

"Yes, mother, but do not be long," she replied. "I will try and keep
brother by me while you are away."

"Very well," said Mrs. Wentworth, "I shall make haste and return."

Admonishing her little son not to leave the room during her absence,
Mrs. Wentworth was on the point of leaving the room when Ella called
to her: "Be sure to come back soon, mother," she said. "I want you
back early particularly."

"Why, my darling?" enquired her mother.

"Why, in case I should be going to--" Here her voice sunk to a
whisper, and her mother failed to catch what she said.

"In case you should be going to, what?" enquired Mrs. Wentworth.

"Nothing, mother," she replied. "I was only thinking, but make haste
and come back."

"I will," her mother answered, "I will come back immediately."

Choking the sob that rose in her throat, Mrs. Wentworth left the room
and proceeded towards Mr. Swartz's office. Her visit was a hopeless
one, but she determined to make the trial. She could not believe that
the heart of every man was turned against the poor and helpless.

What a world is this we live in! We view with calm indifference the
downfall of our fellow-mortals. We see them struggling in the billows
of adversity, and as our proud bark of wealth glides swiftly by, we
extend no helping hand to the worn swimmer. And yet we can look upon
our past life with complacency, can delight to recall the hours of
happiness we have past, and if some scene of penury and grief is
recalled to our memory, we drive away the thought of what we then
beheld and sought not to better.

What is that that makes man's heart cold as the mountain tops of
Kamtschatka? It is that cursed greed for gain--that all absorb