broke in Nora, with a slow nod of her head.

"Well," went on Felix, in an I-told-you-so tone of voice, "and I suppose the _pater_ thinks we're watching and measuring his progress like so many hungry hawks, just ready to swoop down and devour him--_ach_!" He threw out his hands with a gesture of disgust that somehow made us all feel ashamed, though we weren't all in it, you know.

"That isn't a bad plan," said Nora, presently. "In fact, I think it is good; only, instead of three of you going at papa about it, why not let one speak for all? He would be just as likely to listen to one as to three, and it wouldn't tire him so much,--that's _my_ opinion. What do you think, Nannie?"

Nannie shook her head dubiously; she was lying on the sofa looking awfully tired. "I'm not sure that it'll do any good," she answered; "I'm afraid papa has made up his mind to do just so much work, and he likes to carry out his intentions, you know. But I'd speak all the same," she added, "for I think he felt dreadfully cut up over that Fetich affair, and this will show him, anyhow, that you all care more for him--his well-being, I mean--than for the money the book might bring in. I fancy he has been doubtful of that sometimes. And I agree with Nora that it would be better for one to speak for the three. He is getting stronger now, and whoever is to be spokesman might, perhaps, go in to see him for a few minutes some afternoon this week. Who is it to be,--Phil?"

"Don't ask me to do it!" exclaimed Phil; "_don't_--if you want the affair to be a success. I feel mortally ashamed of my share in that joke, and I agree with Felix that _somebody_ ought to speak to the _pater_ about working so hard, and almost killing himself; but I warn you that the whole thing will be a dead failure if I have the doing of it. In the first place, he looks so wretchedly now that I can't even look at him without feeling like breaking down; and with all that, if I undertook to say to him what I'd have to, why, I'm convinced I'd get rattled,--make an a.s.s of myself, in fact,--and do no good whatever,--for that sort of thing always makes him mad. That's just the truth,--'tisn't that I want to shirk. Why don't you do it, old fellow?" (throwing his arm across Fee's shoulders), "you always know what to say, and can do it better than I."

But Fee didn't seem willing either; _I_ think the chief reason was because he was afraid of the steps,--it's as much as he can do to get up the one short flight from his floor to the schoolroom, and he gets awfully nervous and cranky over even that short distance; but of course the others didn't know that, and he didn't want them to know, and I couldn't say anything, so everybody was very much surprised: even Nannie opened her eyes when, after a good deal of urging, he said sharply, "I am _not_ going to do it, and that settles it!"

I was afraid there'd be a fuss, so I sung out quickly, "Why don't _you_ do it, Betty? You're always saying you're equal to anything."

Well, if you had seen her face, and felt the punch she gave my shoulder!

I declare Betty ought surely to've been a boy; she's entirely too strong for a girl, and rough. I will say, though, that she's been better lately; but still she breaks out every now and then, and then she hits out, perfectly regardless of whether she hurts people or not.

She just glared at me. "_Me!_ _I!_ _I_ go into papa's room and make a speech to him!" she exclaimed so loudly that Phil reminded her she needn't roar, as none of us were deaf. "Why, I couldn't, I simply _couldn't_! I'm just as bad as Phil in a sick-room,--you all know I am; I'd tumble over the chairs, or knock things off the table, or fall on the bed, or something horrid, and papa'd have me put out. Then I'm sure matters would be worse than they are now. 'Tisn't that I'm _afraid_,"--with a withering glance at me,--"and I _do_ feel awfully sorry about papa; but all the same, I don't want to be the one to speak to him about the Fetich,--I don't think it's my place: how much attention do you suppose he would pay to what _I_'d say?" She fanned herself vigorously, then added, in a milder tone, "Why not let Felix draw up a pet.i.tion, and we could all sign it; then--eh--" with another withering glance--"_Jack_ could take it in to papa!"

"You're a fine set!" mocked Nora; "all _very_ sorry, _very_ penitent, all seeing what should be done, but no one willing to do it. You are as bad as the rats who decided in council that a bell should be placed on the neck of their enemy, the cat, so that they should always have warning of her approach; but when it came to deciding on who was to do the deed, not one was brave enough."

"I suppose you think, as Nora does, that we're a pretty mean set?" Felix said to Nannie; he ignored Nora's remark, though Phil made a dash for her with the laughing threat, "Just let me catch you, Miss Nora!"

Nannie sat up and pushed her hair off her forehead; she looked pale and languid, and when she spoke, her voice sounded tired. "No," she said, "I don't think you are any of you mean; but I am disappointed: I like people to have the courage of their convictions, and particularly you, Fee."

"That's right, give it to us, Nancy,--we deserve it!" shouted Phil, coming back in triumph with Nora; but Felix coloured up, and, leaning over, laid his hand on Nannie's arm. "Perhaps if you--" he began eagerly, but he didn't say the rest, for Max and Hilliard came in just then, and Nannie got up to speak to them.

That was on a Tuesday evening, and the next afternoon, as I was going through the hall, Miss Appleton came out of the sick-room and asked if I would sit with papa for a short time, while she went to the bas.e.m.e.nt to make some nourishment or something or other. "There is nothing to do but to sit somewhere about the room, within range of your father's sight,"

she said, as I hesitated a little,--not that I minded, but you see I was rather nervous for fear I might be asked to do things that I didn't know how to. "I won't be long, and I don't think he will need anything until I return."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "MISS APPLETON ... ASKED IF I WOULD SIT WITH PAPA FOR A SHORT TIME."]

Nannie was lying down with a headache, and nurse, Miss Marston, and the others were away upstairs; Phil had not yet come home; so I said, "Very well," and walked in.

Papa was lying in bed, and he did look awful!--white and thin! He put out his hand as I went up to the bed, and said with a little smile, "Why, it is Jack! how do you do, my dear?" then he drew me down and kissed me. I would _love_ to have told him how very, _very_ glad I was that he was better, but I choked up so I couldn't get out a word. I just stood there hanging on to his hand, until he drew it away and said, "Take a seat until the nurse returns."

Miss Appleton had told me to sit where papa could see me, so I took a chair that somebody had left standing near the foot of the bed, and in full view of him.

It was very quiet in the room after that; papa lay with his eyes closed, and I could see how badly he looked. He was very pale,--kind of a greyish white,--his eyes were sunk 'way in, and there were quite big hollows in his temples and his cheeks. I wondered if he knew that he had nearly died, and that we had prayed for him in church; then I thought of the figure of the angel that we'd seen in the clouds that afternoon in the schoolroom, and of the Beautiful City--"O mother dear, Jerusalem"--where everything is lovely and everybody so happy, and I wondered again if papa were sorry or glad that he was going to get better. You see he would have had dear mamma there, and been with the King "in His felicity;" but then he wouldn't have had the Fetich or his books!

Suddenly papa opened his eyes and looked at me. "Jack," he said, "suppose you take another seat,--over there behind the curtain. I will call you if I need anything."

He told Nannie afterward--and she told me, so I shouldn't do it again--that I'd "stared him out of countenance." I was awfully sorry; I wouldn't have done such a rude thing for the world, you know,--I didn't even know I was doing it; but, as I've told you before, when I'm alone with papa, I somehow just _have_ to look and look at him.

I'd hardly taken my seat behind the curtain when the door opened and Fee came slowly in. He leaned heavily on his cane and caught on to the different pieces of furniture to help him make his way to papa's bedside. They just clasped hands, and for a minute neither of them said a word; then Felix began: "Oh, sir, I thank G.o.d that you are spared,"--his voice shook so he had to stop.

Papa said gently: "More reference-making for you, my lad; I am evidently to be allowed to finish my work." And then Fee began again.

He didn't say a great deal, and it was in a low tone,--a little slow, too, at first, as if he were holding himself in,--but there was something in his voice that made my heart swell up in me as it did that day I thrashed Henderson. It's a queer feeling; it makes one feel as if one could easily do things that would be quite impossible at any other time.

"I hope I'll not tire or agitate you, sir," Fee said, "but I feel I must tell you, for Phil, Betty, and myself, how _utterly_ ashamed we are of that miserable, heartless joke we got off some months ago,--going to Mr.

Erveng about your book; no, father, _please_ let me go on,--this ought to have been said long ago! We earnestly ask your forgiveness for that, sir; the remembrance of it has lain very heavy on our hearts in these last anxious weeks--"

He stopped; I guess there was a lump in his throat,--_I_ know what that is! And presently papa said, very gently: "That did hurt me, Felix; but I have forgiven it. It may be that the experience was needed. I am afraid that I forgot I owed it to my children to finish and make use of my work."

"No, _no_!" exclaimed Felix, vehemently. "_Don't_ feel that way, father; oh, _please_ don't! We hope you won't ever work on it again as you have been working,--to run yourself down, to make yourself ill. We beg, we implore that you will take better care of yourself. Let the book go; _never_ finish it; what do we care for it, compared to having you with us strong and well once more! Oh, sir, if you really do forgive us, if you really do believe in the love of your children, promise us that you will not work as you've been doing lately!"

He waited a minute or two; then, as papa said nothing, he cried out sharply: "We are--_her_--children, sir; for _her_ sake do as we ask!"

"Why do you want this--why do you want me to live?" papa asked slowly.

"_Why?_ Because we love you!" exclaimed Fee, in surprise.

And then I heard papa say, "My _son_!" in _such_ a tender voice; and then,--after a while,--"I am under a contract to finish my book, and I must do it; but I will endeavour to work less arduously, and to look more after my health."

Here I think Fee must have kissed him,--it sounded so. "I shall have good news for the others," he said. "You know, sir, Phil and Betty feel as keenly about this as I do, but, for fear it would tire you, it was thought best for only one of us to speak to you about the matter. You don't feel any worse for our talk,--do you, father?" He said this anxiously, but papa said no, it hadn't done him any harm; still, he added, Felix had better go, and so he did in a few minutes. I felt so sorry when I thought of all the steps he'd have to climb to the schoolroom; I wondered how he'd ever get up them.

Well, after that I think papa had a nap; anyway, he was very quiet. It was pretty stupid for me behind that curtain, and I was just wishing for about the tenth time that Miss Appleton would put in an appearance, when the door opened suddenly, and who should come walking in but Phil!

He went straight up to papa, and began rather loud, and in a quick, excited sort of way,--I could tell he was awfully nervous,--"How d'you feel to-day, sir?" Then, before papa had time to answer, he went on: "We were talking things over last evening, and--and we--well, sir, we--that is, Felix, Betty, and I--feel that we're at the bottom of this illness of yours, through our getting up the scheme about the Fet--your book, you know--in going to Mr. Erveng. It was the cheekiest thing on our part! I deserve to be kicked for that, sir,--I know I do. And we're afraid--we think--you're just killing yourself! I'm a blundering idiot at talking, I know, so I might's well cut it short. What I want to say is this: We'd rather have you living, sir, and the--history--_never_ finished, than have it finished, with no end of money, and you dead. Oh, father, if you could know how we felt that night when your life hung in the balance!" He broke right down with a great sob.

Then everything was so quiet again that I looked round the portiere; Phil knelt by the bedside with his face buried in the bed-clothes, and papa's hand was resting on his head.

I let the curtain fall. I felt, perhaps, they'd rather I didn't look at them.

Then presently papa said quite cheerfully, "It will be all right, Phil: I think I am going to get well, and I shall try to take better care of myself; so you will, I hope, have no further occasion to be troubled about my health. I appreciate your speaking frankly to me, as you have done. Now, perhaps, you had better go; I am a little tired."

Phil shook hands with papa and started to go, but paused half-way to the door. "This is for Felix and Betty, as well as for myself, father," he said pleadingly. "They feel just as badly as I do about you, but we thought 'twas best for one to speak for the three; and I being the eldest,--you understand?"

"Yes," papa said gently, "I understand."

As the door closed behind Phil, papa called me. "Jack," he said, in a weak voice, "it seems to me that Miss Appleton is gone a good while; perhaps you had better give me something,--I think I am tired."

My! didn't I get nervous! There was nothing on the table but bottles and a medicine gla.s.s; I didn't know any more than the man in the moon what to give him, and I didn't like to ask him. I was pretty sure he didn't know; and besides, he had shut his eyes. I caught up one of the bottles and uncorked and smelled it without in the least knowing what I intended doing next. How I did wish the nurse would come! Just then some one came into the room, and when I turned quickly, expecting to see Miss Appleton, who was it but _Betty_!

Well, I was so surprised, I nearly dropped the bottle. But she didn't even look at me; she just marched up to papa and began talking.

She stood a little distance from the bed,--she said afterward she was afraid to go nearer for fear she'd shake the bed, or fall on it,--with her hands behind her back, and she just rattled off what she had to say as if she'd been "primed," as Phil calls it. Without even a "how d'you do?" she plunged into her subject. That's Betty all over; she always goes right to the point. "Papa," she said earnestly, "I'm awfully--that is, _very_, _very_ sorry we went to Mr. Erveng that time about your book, without first speaking to you about it. We're all _very_ sorry,--Phil, Felix, and I,--and just as ashamed as we can be. We've worried dreadfully over it, and about you, and it was simply _awful_ when we thought you were going to die! We didn't acknowledge it to one another, but if you had died, I know we three'd have felt as if we had as much as killed you" (here Betty's voice dropped to almost a whisper; I thought perhaps she was going to cry, but she didn't, she just went on louder); "for we are sure you never would have hurried so with--your book--if we hadn't played that mean joke. You see, papa, we're _so_ afraid you'll--you'll--die, or be ill, or something else dreadful if you don't stop working so hard,--like a galley slave, as Phil says. And I've come to ask you, for Phil, Felix, and myself, to let the hateful old book go, and just get well and strong again; will you?"

"But if the history is completed, it can be sold, and thus bring in the money that is so much needed in the family."

Betty eyed papa; I think she wasn't sure whether he was in sarcasm or earnest. "Oh," she said, "we did think it would be nice to have enough money to send Fee to college, but we don't want it any more,--at least, not if it's to come by your being ill--or--or--oh, papa, dear, we're all so _very_ glad and thankful that you are going to get well." She took his hand up carefully and kissed it.

"I think that now I am glad, too, Betty," said papa; "much more so than I ever expected to be."

"And you won't work so hard again, will you?" asked Betty, anxiously.

"You see, papa, I'm to get you to promise that; that's what I've come for. We talked the matter over last evening, and Phil would have come to speak to you about it, but he said you looked so wretchedly--and so you do--that just to look at you made him break down, and he was afraid he'd get rattled and make an a--a mess of it. Then Felix, he couldn't come, because, well, because--I guess he felt badly, too, about your being ill. So I thought _I'd_ better come down and have a talk with you, though I must say I was afraid I might do something awkward,--I'm so _stupid_ in a sick-room; but so far all's right, isn't it? The boys don't know I've come,--I thought I'd surprise them; and so I will, with the good news: you'll promise, won't you, papa?"

"Yes," papa said, "I promise."