It was about a month before school began, and yet Johnnie had not saved quite the desired amount.
One evening he came rushing home waving his hat and dinner pail to his aunt, who stood in the doorway.
"Oh, auntie, I have enough now," he shouted joyfully.
Her motion for silence and the look on her face lowered his glad voice.
"What is the matter? Are you ill? Has anything happened to Pat?" he hurriedly asked.
"Come in and sit down, and I will tell you," she replied.
A strange sickening odor of some drug filled the house; there was an unusual stir in the front room. Johnnie's heart sank within him. He listened with terror-stricken face to the terrible news. An accident on the road; Pat was hurt; they were amputating his arm; they feared he would die.
His face grew whiter and whiter as each detail of the horror grew upon his mind. He buried his face in his hands, and sat motionless a long, long time.
After a time he went softly into the house, into the room where Pat lay still unconscious.
"Pat, dear Pat," he sobbed, laying his wet face against the one colorless hand.