But, alas, the morrow found him burning with fever and when he attempted to stand, he found it impossible to do so.  A case of scarlet fever had appeared in the village and it soon became evident that the disease had fastened upon Frank.  The morning following the sewing society Ella Campbell and several other children showed symptoms of the same disease, and in the season of general sickness which followed, few were left to care for the poor widow.  Daily little Frank grew worse.  The dollar he had earned was gone, the basket of provisions Mrs. Johnson had sent was gone, and when for milk the baby Alice cried, there was none to give her.

At last Frank, pulling the old blue jacket from under his head, and passing it to Mary, said, “Take it to Bill Bender,—­he offered me a shilling for it, and a shilling will buy milk for Allie and crackers for mother,—­take it.”

“No, Franky,” answered Mary, “you would have no pillow, besides, I’ve got something more valuable, which I can sell.  I’ve kept it long, but it must go to keep us from starving;”—­and she held to view the golden locket, which George Moreland had thrown around her neck.

“You shan’t sell that,” said Frank.  “You must keep it to remember George, and then, too, you may want it more some other time.”

Mary finally yielded the point, and gathering up the crumpled jacket, started in quest of Billy Bender.  He was a kind-hearted boy, two years older than Frank, whom he had often befriended, and shielded from the jeers of their companions.  He did not want the jacket, for it was a vast deal too small; and it was only in reply to a proposal from Frank that he should buy it that he had casually offered him a shilling.  But now, when he saw the garment, and learned why it was sent he immediately drew from his old leather wallet a quarter, all the money he had in the world and giving it to Mary bade her keep it, as she would need it all.

Half an hour after a cooling orange was held to Frank’s parched lips, and Mary said, “Drink it, brother, I’ve got two more, besides some milk and bread,” but the ear she addressed was deaf and the eye dim with the fast falling shadow of death.  “Mother, mother!” cried the little girl, “Franky won’t drink and his forehead is all sweat.  Can’t I hold you up while you come to him?”

Mrs. Howard had been much worse that day, but she did not need the support of those feeble arms.  She felt, rather than saw that her darling boy was dying, and agony made her strong.  Springing to his side she wiped from his brow the cold moisture which had so alarmed her daughter chafed his hands and feet, and bathed his head, until he seemed better and fell asleep.

“Now, if the doctor would only come,” said Mary; but the doctor was hurrying from house to house, for more than one that night lay dying in Chicopee.  But on no hearthstone fell the gloom of death so darkly as upon that low, brown house, where a trembling woman and a frail young child watched and wept over the dying Frank.  Fast the shades of night came on, and when all was dark in the sick room, Mary sobbed out, “We have no candle, mother, and if I go for one, and he should die—­”