a mother, and all within a six month. He cried, as you would cry, or I,
and be glad that crying might be.... Dr. DeLancey, at length, managed to
loosen his clenching fingers. Dr. DeLancey was crying, too; the tears ran
down his veined cheeks to lose themselves in the hair of his cheeks. He
tried to fume and fuss and splutter, as was his wont; but he couldn't. He
could just put his hand around Tom Blake's heaving young shoulders,
listen to his choking, broken sobs and say, over and over, and over
again: "There, there, my boy! There, there! There, there!"

It's pretty hard, you know, to lose a father and a mother like that, and
all within six months.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER NINE.

OF CERTAIN OTHER GOINGS.


John Stuyvesant Schuyler's end was different. He was a man reserved--a
man who thought much and told little. His illness baffled Dr. DeLancey at
first; but then he knew what the disease was; although to it he could
give no polysyllabic name of Latin, and for it he could prescribe no
remedies; for the cure had gone from the hands of man into the hands of
God. And to the hands of God, John Stuyvesant Schuyler went, at length,
to find it; and who shall say that his quest was unsuccessful?