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shrugged his shoulders. "He is
asleep," he added. "It would be bet
ter not to disturb him. In about an
hour he should be ready for you."
He took his departure, leaving
them alone. Molly slipped her arm
through her husband's, and they went
through the rooms together.
How it all came back to John! He
had been born in the old home, and
it held him in the chains of old asso
ciation. Here was the same old fur
nituie the sofa, with the, indelible
marks of his baby heels in the faded
leather cover; the library, where he
had gazed in awe at his father's
books; the greenhouse at the back,
where he had set out plants when he
was first allowed to enter into the
mysteries of horticulture.
"John," said Molly very quietly,
"show me the room in which you
played when you were a little boy."
He led her up the thick-carpeted
stairs, and at every step remem
brances rushed back to him. They
passed the bedroom in which his fath
er lay sleeping. John saw a white
capped nurse beside the bed through
the open door. He wanted to run in,
as he would'have done years before.
At last they reached the nursery.
Once inside, John gave a start and
gulped down the lump rising in his
throat. All the old toys had been care
fully set out. The rocking horse, on
which he had ridden through the
mysterious lands of childhood, the
bricks that had been built into cas
tles, the toy railroad, on which the
train of cars still stood, ready, upon
the winding of the mechanism, to ful
fill its circular journey over and over
John looked at Molly dumbly. He
saw the tears in her eyes.
"Poor John!" she whispered. "And
the poor old man!"
They passed into an adjacent room,
once devoted to old lumber and
trunks. John switched on the lights.
He did not know why he had entered
but now he started back, this time
The wall was covered with pictures
his pictures. There was his first,
"Apollo at the Well," hanging the
whole width of the room. There was
his latest, "The Good Samaritan."
There were half a hundred that he
had sold to Rawlins for such an unheard-of
price for a beginner.
John looked at Molly, and he knew
that she recognized them and under
stood. And shame overcame him.
He sank down and could no longer
restrain his tears.
He felt Molly's hand upon his
shoulder. "John, dear," she whis
pered, "it Was he!"
"Yes," John answered.
"But, though he gave you your
start, you have done well, dear. You
must not take it too much to heart.
You know, you are making a good in
come now, apart from Rawlins."
"I know, Molly," he answered.
"But itvvas he his loving care that
watched over me. And I thought him
utterly heartless and unloving."
They went down the stairs side by
side. They paused at the bedroom
door. The white-capped nurse saw
them and came out.
"He has just awakened," she whis
pered. "He is better so much bet
ter. His sleep seemed to be the crisis.
He will get well. It is wonderful, the
change that has come over him dur
ing his sleep."
Didlhe sick man understand, in the
land of dreams, that his dearest de
sire had come to pass?
It almost seemed so, for, when
John and Molly entered he looked at
them without surprise and feebly
stretched out his shrunken arm to
"John my boy!" he murmured.
John wasSmeeling at his father's
bedside as he had done when he was
a child. The old man's hand rested
upon his head, and John's face was in
"Father this is my wife!" he said.
"I know," answered his father.
"You are a lucky man, John, and I am