Max and Evelyn were in their own Sunnyside home, leaning over their sleeping babe, their faces shining with love and joy.

“The darling!” exclaimed Max, speaking low and tenderly. “She seems to me the dearest, loveliest child that ever was made.”

“To me, too,” returned Eva with a low and sweet laugh, “though I know that is because she is yours and mine; and there must have been very many others quite as beautiful and sweet.”

“Yes, no doubt; and I suppose it is because she is our very own that she seems so wonderfully attractive and lovable to me. And yet she seems to be so to others not related to her.”

“Quite true, Max, and my heart sings for joy over her; and yet we cannot tell that she will always be an unmixed blessing, for we do not know what her character in future life may be. Oh, Max, we must try to train her up aright, and we must pray constantly for God’s blessing upon our efforts; for without His blessing they will avail nothing.”

“No, dearest, I am sure of that, and my darling little daughter will be always remembered in my prayers. That will be almost all I can do for her in that line, as my profession will call me almost constantly to a distance from home. You, dearest, will have to bear the burden of her training and education; except such parts as money can procure.”

“I know, I know,” Evelyn replied in moved tones, “and you must pray for me that I may have wisdom, grace and strength according to my day.”

“That I will, dear wife; and we will converse every day by letter, shall we not?”

“Yes, indeed, and you shall know as well as written words can tell you how baby grows, and looks, and learns. And she shall know her papa by seeing his photograph and hearing a great deal about him from mamma’s lips.”

“It is pleasant to think of that,” Max said with a smile. “And of my home-coming, which I hope will be rather frequent, as we are at peace and I am likely to be on some vessel near the shore of this, our own land.”

“Oh, I hope so!” exclaimed Evelyn. “How I shall look and long for your coming! Ah, I envy those women whose husbands are always at home with them.”

“Oh, my dear, some of them would be glad if they weren’t. Unfortunately, all marriages are not the happy ones that ours is; some husbands and wives have little love for each other, little enjoyment in each other’s society.”

“Alas, my dear, that is a sad truth,” sighed Evelyn; “and our mutual love and happiness in each other is still another cause for gratitude to God.”

“Yes, indeed, and I thank Him every day—and many times a day—for the dear, lovable wife He has given me.”

“As I do for my best and dearest of husbands,” she said in response.

“And oh, what a number of dear relatives and friends our marriage has given me! Friends they were before, but not really relatives. I am so glad to be able to call your father, sisters and little brother mine. It is so sad to have no near relatives.”

“Yes, I feel that it must be, though I have not known it by experience, having always had my dear father and sisters, Lu and Grace. But now, dearest, it grows late and you are looking weary. Had you not better get to bed as quickly as possible?”

“Yes, my dear, thoughtful husband; it has been quite an exciting day and I am weary,” she said, turning from the cradle to him, her eyes shining with love and joy.

After Grace had said good-night and retired to her own apartments the captain and Violet sat chatting together in the library for some time. It was quite past their usual hour for retiring, when at length they went up to their bedroom. The door was open between it and the next room, which had formerly been occupied by Grace, but was now given up to Ned, he having graduated from the nursery, much to his own gratification. He considered it plain proof that he was no longer a baby boy, but a big fellow hastening on toward manhood.

“I have been feeling somewhat anxious about our little boy,” Violet said in an undertone to her husband, while laying aside her jewelry, “he was so flushed and excited while getting ready for bed. Oh, hark, how he is talking now!”

She paused in her employment and stood listening, the captain doing likewise.

“I got to the base first, and it’s your turn to be ‘It,’ Eric!” Ned called out in excited tones.

Tears started to Violet’s eyes as she turned toward her husband with a questioning, appealing look.

“I fear he is indeed not well,” returned the captain, moving toward the open door. “We will see what can be done for him.”

Violet followed. The captain lighted the gas and both went to the bedside. Ned was rolling and tumbling about the bed, muttering and occasionally calling out a few words in regard to the game he imagined himself playing.

“Ned, my son,” the captain said in soothing tones, “you are not at play now, but at home in your bed. Try to lie still and sleep quietly.”

The captain took the little hot hand in his as he spoke. He was surprised and alarmed at its heat, and that the little fellow did not seem to know where he was or who it was that spoke to him.

“Oh, Levis, the child is certainly very ill,” said Violet in low, trembling tones. “Would it not be well to ’phone for one of my doctor brothers? I am sure either of them would come promptly and cheerfully if he knew our boy was ill and we wanting advice for him.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it, dearest, and I will go at once to the ’phone,” replied the captain, leaving the room, while Violet leaned over her little son, smoothing the bedclothes and doing all she could to make him more comfortable.

At Ion most of the family had retired to rest, but Harold had lingered over some correspondence in the library, and was going quietly up the stairway when he heard the telephone bell. He went directly to the instrument, saying to himself a trifle regretfully:

“Somebody wanting the doctor, I suppose. Hello!” he called, and was instantly answered in Captain Raymond’s unmistakable voice:

“I am glad it is you, Harold, for we want you badly, as soon as you can come to us. Ned is, I fear, very ill; has a high fever and is quite delirious.”

“I will come at once,” returned Harold. “Poor, dear little chap! His uncle loves him too well to let him suffer a moment’s illness that he may possibly be able to relieve.”

As Harold turned from the instrument his mother’s bedroom door opened and she stood there arrayed in a dressing-gown thrown hastily over her night-dress.

“What is it, Harold, my son?” she asked. “I heard the telephone. Are any of our dear ones taken sick?”

“Don’t be troubled, mother dear,” he returned in tenderly respectful tones. “It was only a call from Woodburn to say that little Ned is not well and they would like me to come and do what I can for him.”

“And you are going?”

“Yes, mother, with all haste.”

“I should like to go with you, to do what I can for the child and to comfort poor Vi.”

“Oh, don’t, mother! Please go back to your bed, take all the rest and sleep that you can and go to them to-morrow. That is your eldest doctor son’s prescription for you. Won’t you take it?” putting an arm about her and kissing her tenderly.

“Yes,” she said, returning the caress with a rather sad sort of smile, “for I think he is a good doctor, as well as one of the best of sons.” And with that she went back to her bed, while he hurried away to his patient.

It was an anxious night to both him and Ned’s parents, and the morning brought little, if any, relief to them or the young sufferer.

Chester and his wife were breakfasting cozily together that morning, when Captain Raymond walked in upon them unannounced.

“Father!” cried Lucilla, springing up and running to him. “Good morning. I’m so glad to see you. But—oh, father, what is the matter? You look real ill.”

As she spoke she held up her face for the usual morning kiss.

He gave it with affection, then said in moved tones:

“Your little brother is very, very ill. Harold and we have been up with him all night. He is no better yet, but we do not give up hope.”

“Oh, I am so, so sorry!” she sighed, tears filling her eyes. “He is such a dear little fellow, and has always been so healthy that I have hardly thought of sickness in connection with him.”

Chester had left his seat at the table and was standing with them now.

“Do not despair, captain,” he said with feeling; “all is not lost that is in danger, and we will all pray for his recovery, if consistent with the Lord’s will.”

“Yes, the effectual, fervent prayer of the righteous man availeth much, and the Lord will spare our dear one if He sees best,” returned the captain feelingly.

“Father dear, you look so weary,” Lucilla said with emotion. “Let me do something for you. Won’t you sit down to the table and have a cup of coffee, if nothing else?”

“Thank you, daughter. Perhaps it would help to strengthen me for the day’s trials and duties,” he replied, accepting the offered seat.

They were about leaving the table when Max came in.

“Good-morning, father, sister and brother,” he said, looking about upon them with a grave, concerned air. “I have just heard bad news from one of the servants—that my little brother is very ill. Father, I hope it is not true?”

“I am sorry, Max, my son, to have to say that it is only too true,” groaned the captain. “We have been up with him all night, and he is a very sick child.”

“Oh, that is sad indeed! Can I help with the nursing, father, or be of service in any way?”

“I don’t know, indeed; but come over all of you, as usual, to cheer us with your presence, and perhaps make yourselves useful in some other way.”

“Thank you, sir. I shall be glad to do anything I can to help or comfort; but—if our baby should cry, might it not disturb poor little Ned?”

“I think not; we have him in the old nursery. Her cry, if she should indulge in one, would hardly reach there, and if it did he is not in a state to notice it. So come over as usual; the very sight of you will do us all good.”

“I was going into town as usual,” said Chester, “but if I can be of any use—”

“Your help will not be needed, with so many others, and you can cheer us with your presence after you get home in the afternoon,” returned the captain in kindly, appreciative tones. “Are Eva and the baby well, Max?” he asked, turning to his son.

“Quite well, thank you, father, and you will probably see us all at Woodburn in an hour or so.”

With that Chester and the captain departed.

At Ion, Mrs. Elsie Travilla came down to breakfast evidently attired for a drive or walk. No one was surprised, for the news of Ned Raymond’s serious illness had already gone through the house, causing sorrow and anxiety to the whole family.

Herbert, too, was ready for a drive, and presently after leaving the table took his mother over to Woodburn in his gig. Dr. Conly also arrived about the same time, having been telephoned to in regard to the illness of his young relative.

Several days followed that were sad ones to not only the immediate Woodburn and Sunnyside families, to whom little Ned was so near and dear, but to the other more distant relatives and friends. All of them were ready and anxious to do anything and everything in their power for the relief of the young sufferer and to comfort and help the grieved and anxious parents.

But Harold’s skill and knowledge of the disease and the most potent and effectual remedies did more than all other human means to remove it and restore the young lad to health. Harold was at length able to pronounce his young patient free from disease and on a fair road to entire recovery of health. Violet embraced her brother and wept for joy, while the father and sisters—the older brother also—were scarcely less glad and thankful.

“Come into the library, Harold, and let us have a little private chat,” the captain said, in tones husky with emotion.

For some moments they sat in silence, the captain evidently too much moved to command his voice in speech. But at length he spoke in low, trembling tones.

“Brother Harold, dear fellow, I can never thank you enough for saving the life of my little son;—you were the instrument in the hands of God our Heavenly Father. Money cannot pay the debt, but I should like to give a liberal fee as an expression of the gratitude felt by us all, especially your Sister Violet and myself.”

There was emotion in Harold’s voice also as he answered:

“My dear brother, don’t forget that it was not so much your son as my own dear little nephew I was working to save. Thank you heartily for your desire to reward me with a liberal fee, but I feel that I can well afford to use all the knowledge, strength and skill I possess for the benefit of my dear ones without any payment in ‘filthy lucre;’ but, my dear brother, there is one reward you could give me which I should be far from despising—which I should value more than a mint of money, or any amount of stocks, bonds or estate.”

He paused, and after a moment’s silence the captain spoke:

“You mean my daughter Grace? Surely, you forget that I long ago consented to the match.”

“If I would serve for her as Jacob did for Rachel; but I want her now, and if you will give her to me directly I will watch over her with all the care and solicitude of both a devoted husband and physician; and I think you will find that marriage will not break down her health. Has not that improved under my care? and may we not hope to see still greater improvement when she is my dear devoted wife?—for she does love me, unworthy as I am.”

The captain sat for a moment apparently in deep thought. Then he said:

“Being of the medical profession, you ought to know better than I what will be likely or unlikely to injure her health. I believe you to be thoroughly honest and true, Harold, and if such is your opinion, and you are willing to live here in this house for at least the first year, and afterward in one that I shall build for you and her on this estate, you may have her in a few months. You know, she will want a little time for the preparation of her trousseau,” he added with a smile.

“Thank you, captain, thank you with all my heart!” exclaimed Harold, his face aglow with happiness.

At that moment Grace’s voice was heard speaking to some one in the hall without.

The captain stepped to the door and opened it.

“Grace, daughter,” he said, “come here for a moment. Harold and I have something to say to you.”

She came immediately, blushing, smiling, a look half of inquiry, half of pleased expectation on her sweet and lovely face.

Her father, still standing by the door, closed it after her, took her hand, drew her into his arms and kissed her tenderly, fondly.

“My child, my own dear child,” he said, “I have given you away, or promised to do so as soon as you can make your preparations and—want me to give up my right in you to another.”

“Oh, no, papa, not that,” she returned, her eyes filling with tears; “am I not your very own daughter? and shall I not always be, as long as we both live?”

“Yes, yes, indeed, my own precious darling, and this is to be your home still for at least a year after—you drop my name for Harold’s.”

“I shall never drop it, father, only add to it,” she returned, with both tears and smiles.

Harold stood close beside them now.

“And you are willing to share mine, dearest, are you not?” he asked, taking her hand in his.

“Yes, indeed, since I have your dear love,” she answered low and feelingly.

“And I think he has been the means of saving your dear life, and now your little brother’s also,” her father said with feeling, “so I cannot refuse you to him any longer, my darling, sorrowful thing as it is to me to give you up.”

“Oh, don’t give me up, dear father, don’t!” she entreated with pleading look and tone. “Surely, I shall not be less yours because I become his also.”

“No, my dear child, I shall surely be as much your father as ever. Shall I not, Harold?”

“Surely, sir; and mine also, if you will accept me as your son.”

Violet came to the door at that moment.

“May I come in?” she asked; “or would that be intruding upon a private interview?”

“Come in, my dear; we will be glad to have you,” replied her husband.

She stepped in and was a little surprised to find the three already there standing in a group together.

It was Harold who explained.

“Congratulate me, sister; I have got leave to claim my bride as soon as she can make ready for the important step.”

“Ah? Oh, I am glad, for you richly deserve it for what you have done for our precious little Ned.”

“Thank you, sister,” Harold said with emotion, “but give God the praise. I could have done nothing had He not blessed the means used.”

“True; and my heart is full of gratitude to Him.” Then, turning to Grace: “I am very, very glad for Harold to be, and feel that he is, rewarded, but, oh, how shall I ever do without you—the dearest of dear girls?”

“I have not yet consented to her departure from her father’s house,” said the captain, turning a proud, fond look upon his daughter, “but have stipulated that we are to have them here in this house for at least a year; then in another to be built upon this estate—if they wish to leave us.”

“Oh, I like that!” exclaimed Violet. “It removes all objections—except with regard to the mixture of relationships,” she added with a slight laugh. “But I am forgetting my errand. Ned is awake and asking hungrily for his father and his doctor.”

“Then we must go to him at once,” said both gentlemen, Grace adding:

“And I, too, if I may, for surely he would not object to seeing his sister also.”

“No, indeed,” said Violet, “and the sight of your dear, sweet face, Gracie, could not, I am sure, do anything but good to any one who sees it.”

“Ah, mamma, I fear you are becoming a flatterer,” laughed Grace. “But it must be for father or the doctor to decide my course of conduct on this occasion.”

“You may come, if you will promise not to say more than a dozen unexciting words to my patient,” Harold said in a tone between jest and earnest.

“I promise,” laughed Grace. “It seems I have to begin to obey you now.”

“I think you began a year or two ago,” he returned laughingly. “You have been a very satisfactory patient.”

“I am glad to hear it,” she said. “Father, have I your permission to go with you to take a peep at my little sick brother?”

“Yes, daughter, if you will be careful to follow the doctor’s directions.”

“I will, father, first following in his and your footsteps,” she said, doing so along with Violet as the two gentlemen, having passed into the hall, now began mounting the broad stairway.

They found the young patient lying among his pillows, looking pale and weak. His eyes shone with pleasure at sight of them.

“I’m glad you’ve all come,” he said feebly. “I want a kiss, mamma.”

She gave it and bent over him, softly smoothing his hair. “Mother’s darling, mother’s dear little man,” she said in trembling tones, pressing kisses on his forehead, cheek and lips.

“There, Vi dear, that will do,” the doctor said gently. “Let the rest of us have our turn. Are you quite easy and comfortable, Ned, my boy?” laying a finger on his pulse as he spoke.

“Yes, uncle. Give me a kiss, and then let papa and Grace do it.”

“Be very quiet and good, my son; do just as uncle tells you, and you will soon be well, I think,” the captain said in cheery tones when he had given the asked-for caress.

Then Grace took her turn, saying:

“My dear little brother, get well now as fast as you can.”

Then the doctor banished them all from the room, bidding them leave him to his care and that of the old mammy who had again and again proved herself a capital nurse in the family connection.