But the crisis came, the fever turned, 
and Dan was on his way to recovery. 
One afternoon, when a neighbor called, 
she said to Mrs. Bogart—not thinking the 
boy was awake—that the woods had been 
thoroughly searched, immediately after 
Dan was taken sick, and no trace of any 
bear could be found in any direction. 
Judge of their surprise to hear Dan 
answer for this was the first intelligent 
speech he had made since his mother had 
found him in the woods—-'‘-I know it was 
a bear; for it was large and black and cov¬ 
ered with long hair, and it wasn't a tree 
for it moved along the ground on ail fours. 
I jumped up and tried to run, but slipped 
and fell, and the bear came and stood over 
me, and I can’t remember anything more, 
for I was frightened and thought the bear 
would surely eat me.*’ 
And this was the same story he told every 
one; and though all agreed that his tim¬ 
idity had caused him to imagine his en¬ 
counter with the bear, no one could con¬ 
vince him that such was the case. 
There was no more constant visitor at 
the house than a young fellow named Os¬ 
car Glenning, and no one strived to do 
more for the invalid than he. This was a 
good deal wondered at, as Oscar was known 
to be one of those rough, wild, “harum 
scar urn” fellows, who prefer the free au¬ 
to that of an invalid’s room, and who had 
always twitted and hectored Dan about the 
latter’s timidity, and never failed to fill his 
mind with the most improbable stories of 
ghosts and bears and matters likely to 
make Dan’s “blood run cold.'’ 
One right as Oscar was sitting up with 
Dan, he said to the lad: “Dan, theie's 
been something on my conscience for a 
heap of a while; but I’ve got to tell you 
now, come what may. I’m a proud-spiiit- 
ed fellow, and always was, and 1 thought 
I’d never bring that pride down so low as to 
ask another fellow’s pardon; but I’m going 
to ask yours for twitting you when you 
were so weak and I was so strong. That 
was all bad enough; but the practical joke 
I played on you was wt>rst of all, and when 
the doctor once said he couldn’t see any 
dgns that you would get well, I felt if you 
lid die. it was just the same as though I 
killed you, as it was all through me youi" 
sickness happened. You may not know 
jnst what I mean, so I will tell you. Tim 
Rainforth wanted me to take his big fur 
coat home for him, and I was just doing 
my errand when I saw you coming along. 
I knew how timid you were about bears, 
and I thought what a good sell I could play 
on you ’specially as it was almost too dark 
to see cleaily. So, I got on my hands and 
knees and crawl* d up to you; and when 
you fell down, 1 came up to you and made 
believe I was about to eat you, and then I 
ran off as fast as my legs would take me. 
I thought you d have a little scare, blit 
nothing more. I never thought the con¬ 
sequences would be what they have been, 
or I w T ould’nt have done it. But I’ll never 
play another practical joke as Jong as 1 
h 1 * e. Now, Dan, I ve relieved my mind 
and I want you to say you forgive me for 
all the suffering I have caused you.’’ 
Iheie was no need of words, the warm 
hand-clasp of Dan’s w as ample proof the 
forgiveness was not denied. 
If Oscar had time to think what the 
consequences might have been, so had Mr. 
Bogart, and he learned the lesson he never 
torgot, and saw there were better ways 
than ins for making people brave and bold, 
as his wa v came near losing a son. 
«IE CHiKCH BEI.L, 
In the old church tower hangs a bell. 
And above it on the vane, 
In the sunshine and the rain, 
Out in gold St. Peter stands 
With the keys in his clasped hands, 
And all is well. 
In the old church tower hangs a bell. 
You can hear its great heart beat, 
Oh! so loud and wild and sweet,. 
While the parson says a prayer 
Over wedded lovers there, 
And all is well. 
In the old church tower hangs a bell.. 
Deep and solemn, hark again! 
Ah I what passion, and what pain! 
With her hands upon her breast. 
Some poor soul has gone to rest 
Where all is well. 
In the old church tower hangs a bell. 
An old friend who seems to know 
All our joy and all our woe, 
It is glad when we are wed, 
I t is sad when we are dead, 
And all is well. 
— T. B, AMricIt _ 
