Tessibel and Elsie

"He's awful sick," Tess whispered. "What'd the doctor say?"

"I'm afraid, Tess--I'm afraid," he answered, unable to frame the medical man's decision.

Dawning comprehension and dismay struggled in the young mother's eyes, for the agonized tones of the well-loved voice and the tender solicitude of the supporting arms had put into Young's halting words the dread import of his message.

"You mean--you mean--?" she questioned.

"Tess, darling; my pretty child," Young murmured helplessly.

The red head dropped upon his chest and for a moment Tess clung to him as though to find protection from the menacing horror. Then she freed herself, dropped on her knees by the bedside, and rested her head on Boy's little hand. During the hours of watching she had striven to steel herself against this possibility. But she couldn't understand. Boy, her cherished bit of living joy and sunshine! What would become of him? Separation? Yes, but where was he going? She didn't know. She couldn't think. A sudden shudder, a kind of voiceless sob shook her.

Young stood quietly by the bedside, watching and waiting. His love for mother and son centered all his thoughts in them. He shared his darling's grief and desired above everything to console her; but the very depth of his sympathy prevented him. Hopeless himself, in this grim crisis, every human effort seemed futile.

Placing a tender hand on her shaking shoulder, he bent down.