’I think you should go to bed, uncle, and Walter will go for the doctor,’ said Gladys, in concern.  ‘Shall I call him now?’

’No; I’ll go to bed, and you can give me some toddy.  There’s my keys; you’ll get the bottle on the top shelf of the press in the office.  I won’t send for the doctor yet.  You can’t get them out when once they get a foot in, and their fees are scandalous.  No, I’ll have no doctors here.’

Gladys knew very well that it was useless to dispute his decision, and, taking his keys, ran lightly up-stairs to the warehouse.

‘I am afraid Uncle Abel is quite ill, Walter,’ she said, as she unlocked the cupboard.  ’He shivers very much, and looks so strangely.  Do you not think we should have the doctor?’

’Yes; but he won’t have him.  I think he looks very bad.  He’s been bad for days, and his cough is awful, but he won’t give in.’

’If he is not better to-morrow, you will just go for the doctor yourself, Walter.  After he is here, uncle can’t say much,’ said Gladys thoughtfully.  ’I will do what I can for him to-day.  I am afraid he looks very like papa.  I don’t like his eyes.’

She took the bottle down, and retired again, with a nod and a smile—­the only inspiration known to the soul of Walter.  It was not of the old man he thought as he busied himself among the goods, but of the fair girl who had come to him in his desolation as a revelation of everything lovely and of good report.

The hot fumes of the toddy sent the old man off into a heavy sleep, during which he got a respite from his racking cough.  It was late afternoon when he awoke, and Gladys was sitting by the fire in the fading light, idle, for a wonder, though her work lay on her lap.  It was too dark for her to see, and she feared to move lest she should awaken the sleeper.  He was awake, however, some time before she was aware, and he lay looking at her intently, his face betokening thought of the most serious kind.  She was startled at length by his utterance of her name.

’Yes, uncle, you have had a fine sleep, so many hours.  See, it is almost dark, and Walter will be down presently,’ she said brightly.  ’Are you ready for tea now?’

She came to his bed-side, and looked down upon him as tenderly as if he had been the dearest being to her on earth.

‘You are a good girl, a good girl,’ he said quickly,—­’the best girl in the whole world.’

Her face flushed with pleasure at this rare praise.

‘I am very glad, uncle, if you think so,’ she said gently.  ’And now, what can the best girl in the world do to keep up her reputation?  Is the pain gone?’

‘Almost; it is not so bad, anyhow.  Do you think I’m dying, Gladys?’

She gave a quick start, and her cheek blanched slightly at this sudden question.

’Oh no.  Why do you ask such a thing, uncle?  You have only got a very bad cold—­a chill caught in that cold place up there.  I wonder you have escaped so long.’