here for five years, or ever since they had removed to Wrenville. Until
within a year they had lived comfortably, when two blows came in quick
succession. The first was the death of Mrs. Prescott, an excellent
woman, whose loss was deeply felt by her husband and son. Soon
afterwards Mr. Prescott, a carpenter by trade, while at work upon the
roof of a high building, fell off, and not only broke his leg badly, but
suffered some internal injury of a still more serious nature. He had
not been able to do a stroke of work since. After some months it became
evident that he would never recover. A year had now passed. During
this time his expenses had swallowed up the small amount which he had
succeeded in laying up previous to his sickness. It was clear that at
his death there would be nothing left. At thirteen years of age Paul
would have to begin the world without a penny.

Mr. Prescott lay upon a bed in a small bedroom adjoining the kitchen.
Paul, a thoughtful-looking boy sat beside it, ready to answer his call.

There had been silence for some time, when Mr. Prescott called feebly--

"Paul!"

"I am here, father," said Paul.

"I am almost gone, Paul, I don't think I shall last through the day."

"O, father," said Paul, sorrowfully, "Don't leave me."

"That is the only grief I have in dying--I must leave you to struggle
for yourself, Paul. I shall be able to leave you absolutely nothing."