THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS
my boy." The lad drew near. "Father." Mr. Howitt seated himself on the bedside. "You'll be strong, father? We are ready now, Dr. Coughlan."
"Yes, tell us, David," said the shepherd, and his voice was steady.
The physician spoke, "Matter of hours, I would say. Twenty-four, perhaps; not more; not more."
"There is no possible chance, David?" asked the shepherd.
Again the little doctor took refuge behind a broadside of scientific terms before replying, "No; no possible chance."
A groan slipped from the gray bearded lips of the father. The artist turned to the picture and smiled. Pete looked wonderingly from face to face.
"Poor father," said the artist. "One thing more, Doctor; can you keep up my strength for awhile?"
"Reasonably well, reasonably well, Howard."
"I am so glad of that because there is much to do before I go. There is so much that must be done first, and I want you both to help me."
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