He need scarcely have asked the question, for the glad light shining in those sunken eyes told how well he knew him.

"Yes, you are my friend. The horse did not throw

you ?"

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No, Ned. You saved my life."

"God heard me. I have been asking Him to deliver you from evil. It has been a long, long day. I am so very tired."

"The day is passed now. Close your eyes and try to sleep. I will sit here beside you."

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Well, that will be good," said Ned, in the easy, satisfied tone of a little child, contentedly sinking to rest in its mother's arms.

The surgeon left them together, and approaching a table in the centre of the room knocked gently upon it.

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Boys," he said, when he had thus engaged the attention of all in the ward, "I want perfect quiet here. The noble fellow who saved Mr. Hardy's life is on the road to recovery. He has fallen asleep, and it is of all things necessary that he should not be roughly wakened. I leave him to your care."

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'Ay, ay, sir," was the gently spoken answer which passed down the length of the room, and the surgeon left the ward quite sure that no careless laughter or loud jesting would be suffered to disturb the sleeper.

It was a strange sight to see those rough men, many of them totally unused to a sick-room, moving about on tiptoe, or, where they were crippled, asking the support of some strong arm, to aid them lest the sound of their crutches on the bare floor might waken the boy. Conversation was carried on in the lowest tones, and the whole ward, occupied by nearly forty men, was as quiet as if the lives of all within it had depended on its stillness. They had all heard the story of Ned's bravery, and had watched the anxious face of Mr. Hardy as he sat beside him day

after day; and their hearts had been so touched that more than one earnest prayer for the boy's life had been breathed by lips that had never spoken to him.

It was a great surprise to Ned to find, on awaking from his long, refreshing sleep, that he was not, as he had supposed, still lying where he had fallen; and to hear from John Hardy that more than a week had passed since the accident took place. He received the news very quietly, seeming quite content to lie there without asking any questions, gazing dreamily out through the open windows upon the green lawn and the waving branches of the trees, or resting with closed eyes in a sort of half-doze, hour after hour.

As the long weeks rolled slowly away, Ned gained strength steadily, but slowly; and the process of recovery was very long and tedious. Through all these days Ned had not once spoken of his loss. It seemed scarcely possible that he had not noticed it, and yet it was almost as strange if, knowing the fact, he was so indifferent to it as to let it pass without a word to his nearest friend. More than once Mr. Hardy had been on the point of speaking, but the fear that the boy felt it too deeply to mention it deterred him. The difficulty was solved for him by Ned himself.

He had been lying very quiet for some time one morning, when he suddenly made a slight movement, and then with a little laugh said, "I'm always forgetting that the old right hand is not here any longer. I tried to put it out just now to reach that glass of water. Will you give me

a drink?"

Mr. Hardy handed him the glass, and when he had satisfied his thirst replaced it on the stand, and bending over him said in a low voice, that he might not be heard by those around, "Ned, I was afraid you felt your loss too bitterly to bear the thought of it."

"Bitterly!" repeated Ned. "When I gave it for you! For the man who laid his true hand on me and owned me

for his friend when I was poor and forlorn! Bitterly! Why I'm the proudest boy in all the land!"

And he looked it as he raised himself on his pillows and gazed with that glad, triumphant smile into John Hardy's face.

“God bless you, boy!" was all that he found voice to say.

"I think it was a bit strange," said Ned, after a silence of some minutes, "that that prayer of mine should have been answered as it was. Don't you think so?"

"What prayer ?"

"Perhaps I ought to say the two prayers,- Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.' God let you answer the one for me; and then He gave me the chance to save you.”

"I don't see that I had much to do with it, Ned."

"You took me right out of the way of temptation.. Rosy Conroy had a good share in it, by searching you out and asking you to take me; but then you did bring me along, and ever since you've been on guard over me. You know you have; don't go to deny it. I'd be right disappointed to think I'd been mistaken all this time, and that you hadn't been taking care that I shouldn't be led off into wrong-doing."

"I didn't know that you had such sharp eyes, Ned. I imagine that you have watched over me quite as closely as I have over you. You are right. I have tried to guard from temptation, so far as I could. But that was very little to do. All the soldiers in Christ's army must stand by one another if they mean that the final victory shall be His."

you

"Yes, I know," said Ned. "I suppose all good people would say that, but then they haven't all got the right way of doing it, like you have. It's such a nice thing to think of, that He's let us kind of work for one another so. I've asked Him so many, many times to deliver you from evil,

but it never came into my head that He'd put the chance right before me, and let me be the one to save you."

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I never understood that petition in this sense," said Hardy, thoughtfully. "I always looked at it as a mere continuance of 'Lead us not into temptation;' but you seem to take it as referring to bodily evil.'

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Why yes, sir, that's the way I took it. I don't know but I'm wrong; but it seemed to strike my mind when I was talking to Rosy of leaving home, that if we said that to God real earnest, I would be safe enough. But, then, I remember, too, that when she was saying afterward that she was afraid to be left without me, lest she'd find it harder to do right, those same words seemed the very ones to say, and so I put her in mind of them. Maybe it means any kind of evil, whichever seems the nearest to us at the time. I guess God will answer them just the same if we say them real hearty, whether we're asking Him to save our best friend when he's in great danger of being killed; or to take care of a little fearsome child who's frightened to think that there'll be no one near to help her when she's tempted to sin. I think He'll hear it either way. I haven't been serving Him very long, but I've found already that He's mighty ready at answering; and He don't seem to mind much about the words, if we only want the thing we're praying for real bad."

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Yes, Ned, the earnest wish of our hearts is the real prayer. That is all He asks of us."

"The earnest wish, and the hearty working it out for ourselves as much as we can," said Ned. A great deal has to be left to Him, but I think He's very likely to let us help things along ourselves; to fix them so, that if we've a mind to we can do a part of the work. I don't believe He means us to ask for a thing, and then sit down and idle away the time till it comes. Do you ?"

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No; the busy brain and the willing heart must go

with the pleading lips. Sometimes, Ned, even the strong right hand must be sacrificed."

"Yes," said the boy, with a smile.

that He only answers the prayer."

"But let it go, so

CHAPTER IX.

HOME.

THE weather had become oppressively warm. The leaves of the trees hung motionless in the still, hot air, and the flowers drooped their heads, wilting under the burning rays of the sun. Toward evening a slight breeze generally sprang up, bringing a little relief from the exceeding heat, and the nights were comparatively cool; but all day long the fierce rays of the sun beat down relentlessly, and the air was so lifeless that the mere effort to breathe it was wearisome.

The warm weather told painfully upon Ned. He bore it very patiently, but Mr. Hardy saw that his strength was waning and his appetite failing, and was quick to notice that his own pleasant or playful words were answered by a quiet smile instead of a jest or merry retort, and that Ned became every day more grave and subdued. He was himself far from strong. well, but he had grown very pale and heavily upon his cane when he walked. much gayer in heart than Ned; but the effort to keep up for the boy's sake was an advantage to him. He had conceived a plan of which he had not yet spoken to Ned, fearing that he might not be able to accomplish it; but his mind was set upon it, and at length it was carried through.

His foot was almost thin, and he leaned He was not really