"Forbes. Down here on the fifth. Met him out in the next State, at an
operation. He told me to come, as my business was the impossible. Told
me you'd stand for it, don't you know, and all that sort of thing?"

"I'm very glad. How is he?"

"Doing very nicely, all things considered."

"Is there a chance?" the Colonel cried, eagerly; "a real chance?"

"My dear man, until amputation is the only thing to be done, there's
always a chance. Personally, I'm very hopeful, though I've been called a
dreamer more than once. But we've got him chirked up a lot, and he's
getting his nerve back, and this morning I thought I detected a slight
improvement, though I was afraid to tell him so. We've all got to work
for him and work like the devil at that."

"If work will do it--"

"Nothing worth while is ever done without work. Go up and see him."

At the sound of a familiar step upon the stair, Allison turned deathly
white. He waited, scarcely daring to breathe, until the half-closed door
opened, and his father stood before him, smiling in welcome. Allison
sprang forward, unbelieving, until his hand touched his father's, not
cold, as though he had risen from the grave, but warmly human and alive.

"Lad, dear lad! I've come back at last!" Allison's answering cry of joy
fairly rang through the house. "Dad! Oh, Dad! I thought you were dead!"