burden off his wife's shoulders on to his own, he is unworthy to be--"

Here the professor launched into a second oration, longer than the
first. In conclusion, he said:

"And so, Miss Hannah, we will give you what work we have to put out. And
you must try and knock along and do as well as you can this season. And
before the next the poor child will die, and the people will forget all
about it, and employ you again."

"But the child is not a-going to die!" burst forth Hannah, in
exasperation. "If he was the son of rich parents, whose hearts lay in
him, and who piled comforts and luxuries and elegances upon him, and
fell down and worshiped him, and had a big fortune and a great name to
leave him, and so did everything they possibly could to keep him alive,
he'd die! But being what he is, a misery and shame to himself and all
connected with him, he'll live! Yes, half-perished as he is with cold
and famine, he'll live! Look at him now!"

The professor did turn and look at the little, thin, wizen-faced boy who
lay upon the bed, contentedly sucking his skinny thumb, and regarding
the speaker with big, bright, knowing eyes, that seemed to say:

"Yes, I mean to suck my thumb and live!"

"To tell you the truth, I think so, too," said the professor, scarcely
certain whether he was replying to the words of Hannah or to the looks
of the child.

It is certain that the dread of death and the desire of life is the very