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" "'Sblood!" cried Jackson, rising, "I can't sit still and hear Mr. Still —there you are!” He paused. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. “There is a secret. When she came to school on Friday, she almost tripped twice going up the stairs. He shall have the estates.
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