e over me
on purpose."

"I hope not."

"I tell you he did!" said Jacob, irritably.

"Well, Jacob, it can't be helped. You must try to get well."

"I'm an old man. I'm afraid I shall never get well again," and he
looked eagerly into Tom's face.

Having heard what he did from the doctor, Tom was placed in an awkward
position. He was too honest to give false hopes, and he remained
silent.

"What did the doctor tell you?" demanded Jacob, suspiciously.

"He said he could not tell whether you would get well or not."

"He thought I was going to die?" said the old man, nervously.

"He didn't say that."

"I don't want to die," moaned the old man, terrified. "I'm only
sixty-five. My father lived to be seventy-five."

"You may live, Jacob."

"I--I'm not ready to die. Ask the doctor to do all he can."

"He will be sure to do that."

There was a pause. The old man's features were convulsed. He had not
till now thought that he was in danger of dying. He was trying to
realize the terrible fact. Tom stood by in silence, for he had some
idea of Jacob's feelings, and he pitied him.

At length the old man turned his face again toward him, and said:

"Tom?"

"What is it, Jacob?"

"I want you to ask the doctor every day if he thinks I am going to die;
and, when he says there is no hope, tell me."

"Yes, Jacob."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

"There is something I must tell you before I die--something important.
Do you hear?"

"Yes, I hear."

"It's something you ought to know. Now you can go. I want to sleep."

"Perhaps it is something about my father," thought Tom, with vague
curiosity.

It was a matter that he had never troubled himself much about, but now
it did occur to him that he should like to know a little more about
himself. He determined to keep faithfully the promise he had made the
old man.

He was destined to have one more adventure before the day closed.

On leaving the hospital Tom directed his course to Broadway. It was the
busiest part of the day, and the street was crowded with stages, drays,
and other vehicles, making it difficult to cross.

A hump-backed seamstress stood on the sidewalk, looking helplessly
across, but not daring to venture on the perilous passage. There was no
policeman in sight.

"I wish I could get across," she said, loud enough to be heard. "Mother
won't know what has become of me."

Tom saw her anxious face, and stepped up at once.

"I will take yo