Book account

Not a word ever passed between them
either on the subject, so anxious were they for the life of the lad, who
in his delirium talked constantly of the past, of Europe, and the ship,
and the mountains he had climbed, and whose names were on his
Alpenstock. Again he was at Carnarvon, going over the old castle, and
again at Melrose, fighting on the fourth of July with Neil McPherson,
who had said his mother was not a lady. Then there were quieter moods,
when he talked of and to little Bessie McPherson, whom he had never
seen, but who came to him in his delirium, and, with her sunny blue eyes
and golden hair, hovered around his bed, while he questioned her of the
little room high up in the hotel, where she went without her dinner so
often, while her heartless mother dined luxuriantly.
"Send for her and bring her here, where she can have enough to eat. Why
don't you send for Bessie?" he would say to them; and once he said it to
Miss McPherson, who was standing by his bedside, and who replied:
"I have sent for her; she is coming.


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