Try and be strong for the sake of your little sister, who has only
you in the world now."
The thought of Lucy touched the right chord in the boy's heart,
and he burst into a passionate fit of crying. The doctor allowed
his tears to flow unchecked.
"You will be better now," he said presently. "Now drink this, then
lie down on the sofa. We must not be having you ill, you know."
Frank gulped down the contents of the glass, and, passive as a
child, allowed the doctor to place him upon the sofa.
"God help and strengthen you, my poor boy," he said; "ask help from
Him."
For an hour Frank lay sobbing on the sofa, and then, remembering
the doctor's last words, he knelt beside it and prayed for strength.
A week had passed. The blinds were up again. Mrs. Hargate had been
laid in her last home, and Frank was sitting alone again in the
little parlor thinking over what had best be done. The outlook
was a dark one, enough to shake the courage of one much older than
Frank. His mother's pension, he knew, died with her. He had, on
the doctor's advice, written to the War Office on the day following
his mother's death, to inform the authorities of the circumstances,
and to ask if any pension could be granted to his sister.
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