fortune — and for him to be stricken in this way!”
“He is not going to die, Susie,” said Mary Baker. “Let me go in and see him.”
“You may go in, if you think best; but he won’t recognize you,” said Mrs. Oliver.
Mary Baker went into the sick chamber and sat down at the side of the bed. The young man was tossing from side to side, throwing his arms about wildly and moaning. She took his hand, held it firmly, and spoke clearly to him, calling him by a familiar name.
“Bobbie,” she said, “look at me. You know me, don’t you?”
The young man ceased his monotonous moaning, his tossing on the pillows, and his ejaculations. He lay quiet and gazed steadfastly at the newcomer.
“Of course you know me, Bobbie,” she persisted gently. “Tell me my name.”
“Why, yes,” he said with perfect sanity, “it’s Mrs. Patterson.” In a few minutes he said, “I believe I will go to sleep.”
He did go to sleep and waked rational, and did not again have delirium. His parents came and carried the boy off to Boston for medical attention. But he escaped espionage of nurse and doctor, and of his parents also. They had taken him to the old Revere House, where they were living, and had established him comfortably in the famous Jenny Lind room. But all this solicitation could not hold him. He returned to Lynn and sent word of his state of mind and whereabouts to the distracted
