CHAPTER XIII. OLD BILL DIES.
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HE beautiful autumn days grew shorter. Novembers blasts were keenly felt, even in that sunny clime, and the boys looked forward with dismay to a winter passed in inaction.
“Why, we'll have to fight to keep warm,” jolly Fred Greene said to the comrades gathered round.
Old Bill had been in hospital for many months. Ralph visited him often, and the sick man's face would brighten, and his voice grow stronger whenever the boy came to his bedside. But he seemed to have lost interest in everything pertaining to this life. Ralph tried earnestly to induce him to talk of the events passing around them, but without success.
One morning early in November, when he went to pay his usual visit, the boy said: