Gain is his first object, his last object, his sole object;
and if he ever did any good, it was simply incidental. Don't put
yourself in his hands, whatever you do,--certainly not without first
making your will!" And the old man, with a flushed and angry
countenance, went away.

Presently the sick man, relapsing into silent thought, drowsed into
sleep, and a strange dream came to him. He seemed at home, sitting under
the tree with the mistletoe in its boughs; he was tired and hungry, and
there came to him a raven with food in its mouth, and the shadow of its
wings was pleasant. He thought, at first, the food was for him; but the
bird, perching on his shoulder, devoured the food, and afterward pecked
at his breast until it opened a way to his heart, and with that in its
claws flew away; and when it was gone, he knew it was not a bird, but
that it was Dr. Killmany who had thus taken out his heart. "I will go
home," he thought, "and tell Jenny"; and when he arose and put his hand
on the neck of Fleety, who had been standing in the furrow close by, she
became a shadow, and instantly vanished out of sight. He then strove to
walk, and, lo! the strength was gone out of his limbs, and, as he sank
down, the roots of the mistletoe struck in his bosom, ran through and
through him, and fastened themselves in the earth beneath, and he became
as one dead, only with the consciousness of being dead.

When he awoke, he related the dream, having given it, as it appeared, a
melancholy interpretation, for he expressed himself determined to return
home immediately. "I will take passage on the Arrow," he said to Dr.
Shepard; and then he counted up the number of days that must go by
before he could have his own green fields beneath his eyes, and his
little ones climbing about his knees.

"I wish I had never left my home," he said; "I wish I had never heard of
Dr. Killmany!" and then he returned to his dream and repeated portions
of it; and then he said, seeming to be thinking aloud, "My good old
mother! my dear, poor Jenny!"

"The sick man's brain is liable to strange fancies," says Dr. Shepard;
"you must not think too seriously of it, but your resolve is very wise."
He then said he would see the captain of the Arrow, as he had promised,
and went away with a smile on his face, and a great weight lifted off
his heart.

A few minutes after this, Hobert Walker was again in the street, the
heavy fur hat on his head, and the well-filled saddl