HELEN AND HAROLD AT JIM'S BEDSIDE
"Don't you know us, Jim?" asked Harold, going up to the sick boy and bending over him.
Jim only replied by an unmeaning stare, and began to mutter inaudibly.
"See, Jim, we have brought you some strawberries," said Helen, advancing and opening her basket.
A glance of intelligence passed over the lad's face as he looked from Helen to the strawberries, but it faded directly, and the low muttering recommenced.
"Can't we do anything for him?" asked Harold in a whisper.
"I think that we might make him more comfortable," said Helen, beginning with deft fingers to straighten the bed-clothes and raise the pillows. "And see, his poor mouth is parched. We might moisten his lips."
"Well, miss, you are kind, to be sure," said Mrs. Hunt's voice from the doorway; "I can't do for him as I would. There's the children; they must be seen to, and the fowls and the pigs. He was a good lad to me, though he is not my own, and we never had a wrong word, never."