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"He doesn't seem to get better, Miss Clay," said she, almost snorting in her violent effort to breathe quietly. "Doctor doesn't say he gets worse, but of course he don't fool me -- I know my boy's pretty sick."

"It's a shame to anyone that knew Rich as I did a few years ago," his mother said. "There wasn't a brighter nor a hardier child. It wasn't until we came to this city that he begun to give way -- and what wonder? It'd kill a horse to live in this place. I wish to God that I had got him out of it when he had that first spell. I may be -- I don't know, but I may be too late now."

"But he wouldn't go," she resumed, clearing her throat. "He was going to stay here, live or die. And Miss Clay, YOU know why!" She stopped short, a terrible look upon Magsie.

"You kept him," said his mother. "He hung round you like a bee round a rose -- poor, sick boy that he was! He's losing sleep now because he can't get you out of his thoughts."

"It wouldn't do you any harm to just -- if you would -- to just see him, would it? Don't say anything about this other man. Could you do that? Couldn't you let him think that maybe if he went away and came back all well you'd -- you might -- there might be some chance for him? Doctor says he's got to go away AT ONCE if he's going to get well."

"That's what Doctor says; he ought to go away TO-DAY, but -- but he won't lissen to me," his mother answered with trembling lips. "He's all I have. I just live for Rich. I loved his father, and when Dick was killed I had only him."

"Miss Clay," said Mrs. Gardiner with a break in her strong, deep voice, "if you do that -- may the Lord send you the happiness you give my boy!" She began to cry again.

"Well, he likes you all right," said his mother on a long, quivering breath.

"If you ain't as pretty and dainty as a little wax doll!" she observed admiringly.

"God above bless and reward you, Margaret!" was all Mrs. Gardiner could say, but Magsie never tired of hearing it.