He bent over the reclining figure, and asked, with anxious solicitude: "How do you feel, father?"
"No better, Scott," and the father began to cough.
"Does it hurt you to cough?"
"Yes, but it won't trouble me long."
"You will be better?" said the boy, half inquiringly.
"No, Scott, I shall never be better. I am very near the end."
"You don't mean that?" exclaimed the boy, in pained surprise.
"Yes, I do, Scott, and you may as well know it. I doubt whether I shall live to see New York."
Scott Walton looked dismayed, for till now he had not suspected that his father's life was in danger. Yet, as he gazed at the fragile form, he was forced to believe that his father spoke truly.
"What will become of me," he said, with emotion, "alone in a strange land?"