Then his face dimpled into a smile once more, as he said,--
"If he was dead, mamma, I should get a little warm 'pirit and put in his
stomach, and ven he would be all well again."
It seemed strange to Hope to be laughing once more. All the night
through, a heavy cloud of anxiety had rested upon Valhalla where one
hero at least was lying. It had been no easy feat which Billy Farrington
had attempted, and no one was more keenly aware of the fact than he,
himself. Well and strong enough for all practical purposes, his physique
in reality was no match for men whose boyhood had been sound, and no
match at all for the fury of Quantuck surf in a gale. He had realized
all that, yet he had not hesitated for an instant as to what was the
one thing for him to do. Billy's code of honor was a simple one and a
straight-forward. It even included the possibility of laying down one's
life for a little child.
All that night, the doctor worked over him. For a long time, it seemed to
him a losing fight; but he prolonged it to the end, and in the end he was
victorious. Phebe had succeeded in bringing Mac to consciousness, and she
was superintending Hope's putting him to bed; the doctor had ordered the
others out of the room, and he and Theodora were alone with Billy when at
last the blue eyes opened.
"Billy! My dear old William!"
That was all the doctor heard.
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