little cabin, the elder doing his best to impart his scanty knowledge to
the younger. They were happy times for Dan. He had something to live for
now, and throughout the day, as he wandered from trap to trap, the words
he had studied the night before kept ringing in his ears.

But, alas! such scenes were to be dispelled all too soon. They were too
good to last long. One evening Dan returned home to find an unusual
commotion about the place. Men and women were there who had never before
entered the building. And the doctor, whom he had often met on the road,
what was he doing there? What were they whispering about? and why did they
look at him in that way, when he entered the house? Where was his father?
Who was that lying on the bed so very still? Could it be dad? He had never
seen him like that before. Then the thought flashed upon him: something
was wrong! His father was hurt! and with a cry he rushed forward, and bent
over the prostrate form. But no word of welcome, no sign of recognition
did he receive. Nothing but that vacant stare met his ardent gaze.

Slowly, very slowly, he grasped the meaning of it all, as the sympathetic
watchers told the brief story. His father had met with a serious accident.
A large birch tree in falling had lodged against another, a sturdy maple.
While cutting at the latter the birch had suddenly turned over and
swooping to the ground with a resounding crash had buried Mr. Flitter
beneath the branches ere he had had time to escape. He had been carried
home bruised, broken, and unconscious. The doctor had been hurriedly
summoned, and had done all in his power for the injured man. But in vain,
for in a short time he had breathed his last.

Dan uttered not a word when the tale had been told. He asked no questions,
neither did he make any outcry. He stood like one stricken dumb, dry-eyed
and motionless, gazing upon that quiet form lying upon the bed. Gently