ARTHUR had a restless night, and could not sleep. He had magnified, in his own mind, the trouble his injury was making in the family, at a time when every body seemed fully occupied, until it seemed like a mountain, over which his thoughts could not climb. When his father opened the door and looked in at day-break, he was tossing about from side to side, and it needed no physician's eye to perceive that he was becoming seriously ill. After exchanging a few words with the young man, Mr. Grant thanked him and relieved him of his charge at the bed-side. "His mind wanders at times," whispered the stranger, as he took leave. "He seems to think you are going to be dragged to jail for debt." A flush almost as dark as that on Arthur's face passed over that of the unhappy father: and mark Hatty is; she'll be down directly. How is mother?" "She had a good night, and is asleep still. When Hatty comes, let her sit here; I want to speak to you." He went out, and when Lucy joined him, he asked abruptly: "Who told Arthur I was going to jail for debt?" "No body, father, that I know of. I don't know who told him there was any debt." "But you are sure he knew there was one?" "Yes, he knew it; but he hasn't known it long." "I thought I knew what trouble meant," said her father, "but it seems I did not know the first letter of its alphabet. And so he told you, you say?" "I knew it before," replied Lucy. "I've known it a good while now. And oh, dear father, I did want so to tell you how sorry Arthur and I were for you, and how willing we felt to work, or do any thing that would relieve you!" He folded how in his arms and laid his hand solemnly upon her head, as if calling down ble upon it. At this moment Lucy heard the vo Horace. "I must go, or Horace will wake mother, she; and so began another day of domestic and duty. As she went from task to task, she felt, a never had done before, the difference betwee earthly and the heavenly love. These cares ke from Arthur's side, where she so longed to b they could not separate her from God. Doing thing for His sake and in His fear, she could tinually look up to and commune with Him. with the deep sorrow, there was peace in her Arthur became worse from hour to hour, an White attended him with almost parental dev Kind neighbors came to lighten and shar household labors, and the young men of the v came at the close of a hard day, to watch all by the sick boy. Even those stranger-gentl refused to go whence they came, until they cou assured of his safety. It became impossible, so many coming and going, to keep Arthur's m in ignorance of his illness. From that hou ceased improving, and the poor baby pined moaned in concert with her. days. They never knew how they lived through them. They did not see the Hand that was underneath them, or they would not have wondered at passing safely through seas of fire. But Arthur was not yet to be snatched away. After many weeks of severe illness he began slowly to amend, and the pressure of anxiety was lifted from their hearts. They had yet, however, a difficult task before them. The little wasted form seemed almost lifeless as soon as the fever left him; and to an inexperienced eye, he looked more alarmingly ill than when flushed in the height of his disease. Lucy proved a good nurse. She understood Arthur's wishes before they were spoken, and no body could feed him so well, or sing so soothingly, or read to him the little he could bear to hear. "Well!" said Hatty, one day, "I thought you would get well. I never believed you would go and die, and leave all of us." "I might do a worse thing," said Arthur. "A worse thing than die !" cried Hatty. "Oh! Arthur." "I thought when I was knocked down that day, that I was hurt very much. I only had a minute tc think. But I was not frightened." 66 NO you were always so cood" said Hatty. |