The doctor smiled and bowed a positive "yes" as he said:
"The crisis is past, care and patience now."
At this moment Hal awoke, and this time more naturally than before. He was quiet, looked upon us all with the clear light of reason in his eyes, and would have talked if it had been allowed. He wanted us all close to him, and smiled as he held tightly Louis' hand in one of his, and with the other grasped that of Professor Benton, to lay both together in a silent introduction. I think Hal felt that Louis had saved his life, and he clung to his hand as a drowning man would to a life preserver. One sweet full hour passed over us, and the doctor made preparation to leave him, whispering to me:
"The young man you brought to your brother is giving him wonderful strength, and he must leave him only long enough to rest a little. The crisis is past and the victory won."
And here began and ended a wonderful lesson in life.
CHAPTER VI.
A QUESTION AND A PROBLEM.
The details of our stay in Chicago as a whole would be uninteresting, and I would not weary the reader with them. Hal improved so rapidly that on the fourth day after our arrival, he was carried in comparative comfort to Mr. Hanson's residence, and placed for a few days in a pleasant chamber to gather strength for our journey home. One little incident I must tell you, connected with my introduction to Mr. Hanson's family. We were seated at the supper table, talking of Hal, his sickness and the cause of it, when Daisy, a five-year-old daughter, spoke quickly, "Mamma, mamma, she looks just like the 'tree lady,' only she don't have her sewing."
I did not realize it as the child spoke, but when Mrs. Hanson chided the little one, saying, "Daisy must learn not to tell all her little thoughts," it all came so clearly, and I trembled visibly; yes, I guess it was rather more than visible, since an unfortunate tilt in my chair, an involuntary effort of trying to poise brain and body at once, upset cup and saucer and plate, and before I knew it Mrs. Hanson had deluged me with bay rum. They said I nearly fainted, but I realized nothing save the ludicrous figure I presented, and I thought desparingly "Emily did it." After supper I went to the library, and there it was—this piece of work which Hal had done, representing me sitting under that old apple tree, hemming and thinking. It was so perfectly done, even to the plain ring on my middle finger, a wide old-fashioned ring which had been my grandmother Minot's, and bore the initials "E.M." I could not speak when I saw it, and if I could I should not have dared to for fear of some unfortunate expression. I wished in my heart it had been any one else but me.