his life, and he clung to his hand as a drowning man would to a life
preserver. One sweet full hour passed over us, and the doctor made
preparation to leave him, whispering to me:

"The young man you brought to your brother is giving him wonderful
strength, and he must leave him only long enough to rest a little. The
crisis is past and the victory won."

And here began and ended a wonderful lesson in life.




CHAPTER VI.

A QUESTION AND A PROBLEM.


The details of our stay in Chicago as a whole would be uninteresting,
and I would not weary the reader with them. Hal improved so rapidly that
on the fourth day after our arrival, he was carried in comparative
comfort to Mr. Hanson's residence, and placed for a few days in a
pleasant chamber to gather strength for our journey home. One little
incident I must tell you, connected with my introduction to Mr. Hanson's
family. We were seated at the supper table, talking of Hal, his sickness
and the cause of it, when Daisy, a five-year-old daughter, spoke
quickly, "Mamma, mamma, she looks just like the 'tree lady,' only she
don't have her sewing."

I did not realize it as the child spoke, but when Mrs. Hanson chided the