J COLE, 79

more? Nothing can bring back the poor fel-
low, murdered while doing his duty.” Then
I, too, knelt down, and took the poor cold
hands in mine.

“Oh, my poor child!’’ I cried, “my little
brave heart; who dared say you were false?
Let those who doubted you look at you now,
with dry eyes, if they can.”

“My dear,” said Dr. Loring suddenly,
“have you always hot water in your bath-
room ?”

“Yes, doctor,” I said; “yes. Why do you
ask? Do you mean —is it possible — there
is life?” And I took Joe’s little head in
my arms, and forgot he was only a servant,
only a poor, common little page-boy. I only
know I pressed him to my breast, and called
him by all the endearing names I used to
call my own children in after years, when
God gave me some, and kissed his white fore-
head in my joy at the blessed ray of hope.

No want of willing arms to carry Joe
up-stairs. Mrs. Wilson had the bath filled
before the doctor was in the room with his
light burden.