"May God help and prosper you, my boy," said Mr. Prescott, solemnly.
"You've been a good son; I pray that you may grow up to be a good man.
But, my dear, I feel tired. I think I will try to go to sleep."

Paul smoothed the comforter, adjusting it carefully about his father's
neck, and going to the door went out in search of some wood to place
upon the fire. Their scanty stock of firewood was exhausted, and Paul
was obliged to go into the woods near by, to obtain such loose fagots as
he might find upon the ground.

He was coming back with his load when his attention was drawn by a
whistle. Looking up he discovered Ben Newcome approaching him.

"How are you, Paul?"

"Pretty well, Ben."

"How precious lonesome you must be, mewed up in the house all the time."

"Yes, it is lonesome, but I wouldn't mind that if I thought father would
ever get any better."

"How is he this morning?"

"Pretty low; I expect he is asleep. He said he was tired just before I
went out."

"I brought over something for you," said Ben, tugging away at his
pocket.