"Ah! is she failing so rapidly, then?" said the young man, while a gloom stole over his features.
"O, not so very fast!" answered the child; "and now you are come, I dare say she will soon be well again."
He patted her cheek, and hurriedly entered his mother's apartment. She was lying on an humble pallet, wan and emaciated to so fearful a degree, that the son could hardly recognize the parent from whom he had parted eight months before.
"O, mother!" said he in sorrowful, reproachful accents; "why had you not sent for me sooner?"
"I have wanted for nothing, my boy," answered the invalid, in a husky voice. "Your letters spoke of success, and hopes for the future; how could I be so selfish as to call you away from prospects so fair, to tend on a sick-bed?"
The son was silent, and after a few moments' pause, she resumed: "Winnie did all that could be done for me. But for a few weeks I've failed faster than usual, and I could not bear to die without beholding my darling boy once more. Besides, what was to become of Winnie, left alone and unprotected?"
"Do not speak so hopelessly, dear mother," said Wayland, tears gathering in his eyes; "I trust with the advancing spring your health may improve."
The poor woman shook her head. Winnie came, and, putting her little arms round her mother's neck, commenced sobbing bitterly.
"Winnie! Winnie! you worry mother doing so," said Wayland, drawing her away; "come now with me; I want to see your pretty fawn and pet kids."
"O, brother! the white spots are all gone from Fanny's neck and sides, and the kiddies' horns are grown so long I'm half afraid of them; but come, I'll find them for you;" and the child, diverted from her tears, seized her brother's hand to lead him forth in search of her playmates. They were soon found, and after admiring and caressing them a few moments, Wayland left his sister to frolic with them on the lawn, and returned to his mother's side.