"Where's the box?" shouted Tom.

Again the old man endeavoured to say something. Failing in this he made an
effort to rise. The struggle was too much for him, and with a cry he sank
back upon the snow, dead.

By this time several neighbours had arrived, and stood near with a look of
awe upon their rugged faces. Nellie drew her father aside, knowing full
well that his care was needed no longer.

"Come," she said, "we had better go home, These men will do the rest. You
have done your part."

He followed her along the little path leading to the main road. Reaching
this she took him by the arm and supported his steps, which were now
over-feeble. Slowly and feelingly, he told the story of the night. He had
found the old man in a bad condition, and cold from the lack of a good
fire. Filling the stove with a liberal supply of wood, and making Billy as
comfortable as the circumstances would permit, he had sat down to watch
his charge. Ere long the sick man grew much worse. Then the chimney had
caught fire. The bricks must have been loose somewhere, which allowed the
flames to pour through into the dry woodwork overhead, which was soon
converted into a blazing mass. Seeing that nothing could be done to save
the building Mr. Westmore was forced to carry Billy, sick though he was,
out of the house. He tried to reach the barn, but his strength failed, so
he was forced to lay his burden upon the snow, and wrap his great-coat
around the helpless man.

"Poor Billy! poor Billy!" said the parson in conclusion. "He was careless