"Ah, that is discouraging; still, we will hope the disease may yet take a favorable turn."
"That is what my parents say," he answered, with a grave, sweet smile; "and though I have little hope, I know that nothing is too hard for the Lord, and am more than willing to leave it in His hands."
"Uncle Harold," said Elsie, coming to the side of his chair and looking up into his face with eyes full of tender sympathy, "I'm so, so sorry for you. I'll ask Jesus to please make you well, or else take you soon to the happy land where you'll never have any more pain."
"Thank you, darling," he said, bending down to kiss the sweet lips. "I know the dear Saviour will listen to your prayer."
"You used to play with my mamma when you were a little boy like me; didn't you, uncle Harold?" queried Eddie, coming up close on the other side.
"Not quite so small, my man," Harold answered, laying his hand gently on the child's head. "Your mamma was about the size of your Aunt Rosie, yonder, and I some three or four years older."
"We've been down to the brook where you played together—you and mamma and Aunt Sophie," said Elsie. "Papa took us, and I think it's a lovely place to play."
"Sophie and I have talked over those dear old times more than once, of late," Harold remarked, turning to Mrs. Travilla. "It does not seem so very long ago, and yet—how many changes! how we are changed! Well, Rosie, what is it?" for she was standing by his chair, waiting with eager face till he should be ready to attend to her.
"Uncle Harold, do you feel able to tell us the story about your being a prisoner, and how you got free, and back to the Union army?" she asked, with persuasive look and tone. "Papa and mamma, and all of us that haven't heard it, would like so much to hear it, if it won't tire you to talk so long."
"It is not a long story; and as my lungs are sound, I do not think it will fatigue me, if you will all come near enough to hear me in my ordinary tone of voice."