from top to bottom with every comfort.  Often I’ve wandered through it, and thought myself a selfish old fellow to be surrounded with so much luxury, and keep it entirely to myself.  God has blessed me with abundance, and to what better use can it be appropriated than the relief of my friends?  Now, Ellen, you shall superintend the whole of the establishment, Esther shall nurse her father, Caddy shall stir up the servants, and I’ll look on and find my happiness in seeing you all happy.  Now, what objection can you urge against that arrangement?” concluded he, triumphantly.

“Why, we shall put you to great inconvenience, and place ourselves under an obligation we can never repay,” answered Mrs. Ellis.

“Don’t despair of that—­never mind the obligation; try and be as cheerful as you can; to-morrow we shall see Ellis, and perhaps find him better; let us at least hope for the best.”

Esther looked with grateful admiration at Mr. Walters, as he left the room.  “What a good heart he has, mother,” said she, as he closed the door behind him; “just such a great tender heart as one should expect to find in so fine a form.”

Mrs. Ellis and her daughters were the first who were found next day, at the office of the doorkeeper of the hospital waiting an opportunity to see their sick friends.

“You’re early, ma’am,” said a little bald-headed official, who sat at his desk fronting the door; “take a chair near the fire—­it’s dreadful cold this morning.”

“Very cold,” replied Esther, taking a seat beside her mother; “how long will it be before we can go in?”

“Oh, you’ve good an hour to wait—­the doctor hasn’t come yet,” replied the door-keeper.  “How is my husband?” tremblingly inquired Mrs. Ellis.

“Who is your husband?—­you don’t know his number, do you?  Never know names here—­go by numbers.”

“We don’t know the number,” rejoined Esther; “my father’s name is Ellis; he was brought here two or three nights since—­he was beaten by the mob.”

“Oh, yes; I know now who you mean—­number sixty—­bad case that, shocking bad case—­hands chopped—­head smashed—­leg broke; he’ll have to cross over, I guess—­make a die of it, I’m afraid.”

Mrs. Ellis shuddered, and turned pale, as the man coolly discussed her husband’s injuries, and their probable fatal termination.  Caddy, observing her agitation, said, “Please, sir, don’t talk of it; mother can’t bear it.”

The man looked at them compassionately for a few moments—­then continued:  “You mustn’t think me hard-hearted—­I see so much of these things, that I can’t feel them as others do.  This is a dreadful thing to you, no doubt, but it’s an every-day song to me—­people are always coming here mangled in all sorts of ways—­so, you see, I’ve got used to it—­in fact, I’d rather miss ’em now if they didn’t come.  I’ve sat in this seat every day for almost twenty years;” and he looked on the girls and their mother as he gave them this piece of information as if he thought they ought to regard him henceforth with great reverence.