Reginald Hawthorne lay upon a couch on the wide veranda of his lovely home.  The birds held high carnival around him,—­nesting in the large cherry tree, playing hide and seek among the fragrant apple blossoms and making the air melodious with their merry songs.  Brilliant orioles flashed to and fro like gleams of gold in the sunlight, as they built their airy hammocks high among the swaying branches of the great willow, and one inquisitive robin swept boldly through the clustering vines which screened the front of the veranda and perched upon his shoulder.  He heard the merry hum of the bees at work and the strident call of the locusts, mingled with the distant neighing of horses and the soft lowing of the cows, but all the sweetness of nature was powerless to lift the gloom which seemed to envelop him as in a shroud.  His face was white and drawn with pain and there were heavy rings beneath his eyes.  Reginald Hawthorne would be a cripple for life.

The College Football Club had met a New York team in the yearly contest, which was looked forward to as one of the events in the athletic world, and Reginald had been foremost among the leaders of the play.  Fierce and long had been the fight and the enthusiastic spectators had shouted themselves hoarse with applause or groaned in despair when the honor of Marlborough seemed likely to be lost.  Then had come a mighty onward rush and the opposing forces concentrated into one seething mass of struggling humanity.  When they drew apart at last the College boys had made the welkin ring with shouts of victory, but their bravest champion lay white and still upon the field.

Long days and nights of pain had followed, when John and Mrs. Hawthorne were at their wits’ end to alleviate the sufferings of the unfortunate boy.  Now the pain had resolved itself into a dull aching but Reginald would never walk without a crutch again.

The mortification to his father was extreme.  A passionate man, he had centred all his hopes upon his son, whose position in life he fondly expected to repay him for his years of unremitting toil, and this was the end of it all!  He grew daily more overbearing and hard to please, and his ebullitions of disappointment and rage were terrible to witness.  He vented his anger most frequently upon John, the sight of whose superb strength goaded the unhappy man into a frenzy, and John’s forbearance was tried to the utmost, but there was a sweet patience growing in his soul which made it possible to endure in silence, however capricious or unreasonable the commands of his master might be, and Reginald, watching him critically, marvelled at the mysterious inner strength of his friend.

He came along now with his quick, light step and drew a chair up beside Reginald’s couch.  He planned his work so as to be with the invalid as much as possible, and his constant sympathy and cheer were all that made the days bearable to him.

“Well, Rege, how goes it?” he asked in tones as tender as a woman’s.