Yes, Ethelyn was unprepared for the fearful change which seemed so near, and of all the household none felt this more keenly than Andy, whose tears soaked through and through the leaf of the prayer-book, where was printed the petition for the sick, and who improvised many a touching prayer himself, kneeling by the wooden chair where God had so often met and blessed him.

“Don’t let Ethie die, Good Father, don’t let her die; at least not till she is ready, and Dick is here to see her—­poor old Dick, who loves her so much.  Please spare her for him, and take me in her place.  I’m good for nothing, only I do hope I’m ready, and Ethie ain’t; so spare her and take me in her place.”

This was one of Andy’s prayers—­generous, unselfish Andy—­who would have died for Ethelyn, and who had been in such exquisite distress since the night when Eunice first found Ethelyn moaning in her room, with her letter to Richard lying unfinished before her.  No one had read that letter—­the Markhams were too honorable for that—­and it had been put away in the portfolio, while undivided attention was given to Ethelyn.  She had been unconscious nearly all the time, saying once when Mrs. Markham asked, “Shall we send for Richard?” “Send for Aunt Barbara; please send for Aunt Barbara.”

This was the third day of Ethelyn’s danger, and on the sixth there came a change.  The shawl was pinned back from the window, admitting light enough for the watchers by the bedside to see if the sufferer still breathed.  Life was not extinct, and Mrs. Markham’s lips moved with a prayer of thanksgiving when Mrs. Jones pointed to a tiny drop of moisture beneath the tangled hair.  Ethelyn would live, the doctor said, but down in the parlor on the sofa where Daisy had lain was a little lifeless form with a troubled look upon its face, showing that it had fought for its life.  Prone upon the floor beside it sat Andy, whispering to the little one and weeping for “poor old Dick, who would mourn for his lost boy.”

Andy was very sorry, and to one who saw him that day, and, ignorant of the circumstances, asked what was the matter that he looked so solemn, he answered sadly, “I have just lost my little uncle that I wanted to stand sponsor for.  He only lived a day,” and Andy’s tears flowed afresh as he thought of all he had lost with the child whose life numbered scarcely twenty-four hours in all.  But that was enough to warrant its being now among the spirits of the Redeemed, and heaven seemed fairer, more desirable to Andy than it had done before.  His father was there with Daisy and his baby uncle, as he persisted in calling Ethelyn’s dead boy until James told him better, and pointed out the ludicrousness of the mistake.  To Ethelyn Andy was tender as a mother, when at last they let him see her, and his lips left marks upon her forehead and cheek.  She was perfectly conscious now, and when told they had sent for Richard, manifested a good deal of interest, and asked when he would probably be there.  They were expecting him every train; but ere he came the fever, which seemed for a time to have abated, returned with double force and Ethelyn knew nothing of the kisses Richard pressed upon her lips, or the tears Aunt Barbara shed over her poor darling.