The tender words from his beloved child roused the Major. He lifted his head and mechanically adjusted his stock. Then he turned to her and placed his hand caressingly upon her brown hair.
"Ah, little Julia! Little Julia!"
That was all for several moments. He sat and looked at her for some time, and the love in his soul beatified his countenance.
"I'm not sick," he said, after a while. "That is, no doctor on earth could help me. It's just the letting go, sweet daughter. I'm old, you must remember, and I can't endure things nor fight as I once could. It has come in the last few days—I have seemed to crumble—to wither, and it has weighed me down horribly. I should have risen above it. I do not care about myself; my life is lived, but you, dear child—it is the thought of your future which fills me with alarm and well-nigh breaks my heart. I have no inheritance for you—I have nothing to leave you but poverty and danger. Don't you understand?"
His voice was gravely tender as he spoke to her thus, and it made her heart ache, and the burning tears come to her lids.
"Oh, daddy!" she cried; "you must be mistaken! You will—you must stay with me many years yet, for I could not get along without you. Tell me you will try—you know the mind has so much to do with the body. Brace up, daddy, for your Julia! You say you have no sickness; then try and let your spirit be bright—for me! Won't you?"
She arose, glided into his lap, curled one arm around his neck and kissed him on the forehead.
"For such a daughter one should try very hard for life," he replied, and the twinkle she had not seen for several days shone in his eyes. "I'm stricken, lassie, but I'll promise you this: I'll make the best fight of my life now, in its last days, and that shall be to stay with my precious little girl as long as I can. Does that satisfy you, young miss?"
The Major's last words were almost gay, and Julia's heart bounded with joy as she heard him speak in his old, brave way. It must be her constant duty to buoy him up and cheer him on. She smiled into his eyes happily, and asked him what book she should bring him. He mentioned a certain volume relating to archaeological research, which she at once procured, and seeing Peter coming up the drive she gave her father another caress and went out, almost tripping, for so quickly do we respond to conditions of joy or sadness. Peter bore nothing but the town paper, which he delivered with an obsequious bow, and immediately sought his hoe again. The lawn, next to The Prince, was his greatest pride, and some weeds were beginning to come up.
Julia sank down upon the portico step, and opened the still damp pages of the Herald. She tried to make herself believe that she was merely conning the column bearing on local happenings and people of the town, but surely such disinterested employment as that would not bring the blood to her checks, nor an added sparkle to her eyes. Directly she found that which she declared to herself she was not looking for, and which she read merely because she happened to see it. The item was in regard to the small-pox, and the attending physician. The Herald had some very nice things to say of the new doctor; in fact, he and his actions took up a goodly portion of so much of the Herald as was printed at home, because the fire had to be told of, with all things relating thereto. Truth to tell, Julia had never fully nor properly appreciated her town paper until this morning, when she found it brimming full of the most interesting news in the world. It seemed that John Glenning's name appeared in nearly every paragraph. There was also a notice of his encounter with Devil Marston, and this was most adroitly written, the editor evidently not wishing to offend the rich bank president, and at the same time endeavouring to keep the friendship of Uncle Billy Hoonover, who had a large county connection, all of whom subscribed for the Herald, and paid for it promptly. The editor opined, in conclusion, that it "was an unfortunate incident, and everyone hoped and believed it was now amicably settled."