ittle boy, who sat holding the reins.

"Hallo, Harry," he cried, "home from school?"

"Hush, Master Bromley, don't make such a noise!" interposed Mrs
Valentine.

Without taking any notice of Master Bromley, Harry exclaimed nervously
to Mrs Valentine--

"Is mamma worse, Mrs Valentine?"

"Yes, dear," the good farmer's wife answered; "you mustn't go in now.
She's very bad, indeed. Mr Bromley is with her."

So Harry ran into the orchard, and sitting down under a tree, felt very
miserable. His mamma was worse--was she really dying now? The
terrible examination--he remembered her words about his work, and going
to Oxford. What was he to do? Was he to get leave from school, and
give up the chance of getting the prize, and stay at home with mamma
instead? But wouldn't that vex her, and perhaps make her worse?
Besides, what use could he be at home? Ah! but if she were to die when
he was away? No, no; he could not go away and leave her. He must stay
with her now! The examination was nothing!

Such were the thoughts that coursed through Harry's brain; for though
only thirteen years old, he was, in point of mind, far beyond his
years, not in his school work, but in his ideas and feelings on general
subjects of every-day life; and the reason of this was his having had,
for so long, his mother as his only companion.

Presently Mrs Valentine came out to him. Her eyes were very red, for
she had been crying.

"You can come in now, Master Harry."

"Mrs Valentine, is mamma dying? What can I do? She mustn't die.
Can't Mr Bromley do anything for her?" cried Harry.

"No, dear boy. Mr Bromley can't do anything for her, poor dear; nor
any one else either, for the matter of that. He can only make her
easier for the time, like."

"But will mamma die before papa comes home?"

"She may die very--very soon," sobbed Mrs Valentine.

By this time they were at the door, and Mrs Valentine left Harry to run
quietly upstairs to his mother's room. He found her in bed, looking
fearfully white, saving two red hectic spots glowing in her wasted
cheeks. Her hands were dry and hot; and when she began to speak, a fit
of coughing made utterance impossible. Harry sat by the bedside, and
burst out crying. After a few minutes, Mrs Campbell said in a low
voice, but so cheerfully--

"Well, Harry dear, how did the examination go off?"

"It's not over, mamma; and, please, don't talk about that. Are you
really going to die, mamma?