He glanced at his son as he finished speaking, and some of the joy and
cheerfulness that had shown in his eyes faded away, for he saw no
return of his joy and happiness on his child's face; all that was
written there was sorrow, pain, and feebleness.

His son, who was nearly seventeen, had always been sickly and feeble
since birth; the best physicians had been employed, change of climate
had been tried, and everything else that promised relief, but of no
avail. The best specialists had been consulted, but they gave little
hope that hereditary consumption could be cured, for the minister's
wife had been similarly afflicted for many years.

The Rev. Williams thought silently for a few moments, then tried to
regain his cheerfulness by changing the subject to something that might
interest his son; so he said, "Well, wife, I suppose that turkey Deacon
Phillips gave us will be done to perfection by dinner time; I am
beginning to feel hungry already, just from thinking of it and it is
two hours to dinner time yet."

Lillian his wife, looked up from her work with a careworn expression
on her face, and said, "Yes, it is a fine large turkey." His wife
always looked worn-out and tired, for not being strong and still
compelled to do all the housework, it fatigued her very much.

It had not always been this way, for the Rev. Williams was a man of
ability, his congregation large, and his salary ample under ordinary
circumstances, but the constant drain of physicians' bills, and the
great expense of sending mother and son to a warm climate each fall,
as the rigors of the northern winters were considered too hard for the
two invalids to bear, had reduced them almost to poverty; consequently