"No, not exactly, if you are busy; but what are you doing?"

"I'll tell you when I come in, and not keep you waiting long
either."

Mrs. Abrams quietly withdrew, and returned to the bedside of her
little daughter Rachel, who lay suffering from pain and burning with
fever.

"What can mamma do for her darling now?" said the fond mother, as
she bent her head over her child and smoothed back the fair hair
from the heated brow; "does your arm still hurt, my lamb?" The
child's moan was her only answer.

"What a pity! How cruel that your dear little arm should have been
so torn by that savage dog!" continued Mrs. Abrams, as she wet the
bandage again with the cooling lotion, and brushed away the tears
that she could not repress at the sight of her little daughter's
suffering.

The sound of footsteps, and Mark stood in the doorway, holding in
his hand a small, dark object, and said:

"Mother, do you see this? Well, I've got it ready--"

"O Mark!" interrupted his mother in horror. "When did you get that
deadly thing: I beg of you, put that pistol up at once; the very
sight of it terrifies me."