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him, but he had lost very little time, and after a word or two with the chemist, he had a door taken off its hinges and Graham's wife put on it. The old woman, at his request, went off for another policeman, and while one accompanied the poor woman on the door to the hospital, the other marched John Graham off to the station-house. The station-house was a solid uninviting looking building, down a passage which opened into a series of courts which formed quite a town in themselves. It had been placed in this spot for the special purpose of keeping in awe the desperate characters in the neighbourhood, who had often from time to time been in its cells. At a desk in the room into which the prisoner was brought sat the serjeant who took the charge, young Graham having been placed in a railed-in passage, at the end of which the policeman stood to prevent his escape. In the yard outside were four cells with strong doors, and a rough, hard, wide bench in each, which had to serve the prisoners as a bed; here John Graham was locked up, and the following morning was brought before the magistrate. By this time he was sober enough, and looked dreadfully frightened at the position in which he was placed. The magistrate was a middle-aged man with a very curly head, and wore speca cles; he was off-hand and rather sharp in his manner, but still he seemed to deal out justice in every case.
Two or three other cases were quickly disposed of, and then John Graham's came
The chemist was in attendance, also the policeman, and, to John Graham's great indignation, the old woman also made her appearance. On being sworn, she had the impudence to volunteer her opinion of John Graham's character; she said that he was an habitual drunkard, had dreadfully treated his brother and sister and turned them out of doors; she even went so far as to perjure herself by saying that she had for a long time wished to get rid of him out of her house, but that she could not. A certificate was here handed in from the hospital surgeon, to say that the young woman's life was in great danger, whereupon John Graham was remanded. Alas! the unhappy young man now found to what a miserable condition sin will reduce those who indulge in it; he had not a single friend to stand by him ; for aught that he knew his wretched wife might die, and then he thought he might be hanged; he was a melancholy example of the truth, that the sinner's path leads into fearful depths.
DOCTOR KENTON had lain awake a good part of the night thinking over his little patient's wish to become a doctor; he remembered how, in his own early days, he had been befriended by one upon whom he had no claim, and now he thought that an occasion was afforded him of doing a like ous act toward another. The doctor had no children of his own;
and for whom am I gathering so much money?" said he to himself. “I'll examine the boy to-morrow, and if I'm satisfied with him, I'll see what can be done for him." The morrow came, and Doctor Kenton sent for Eddy Graham to his study; he devoted an entire hour to examining the child, and finding him intelligent, even above what he had expected, he determined to put him in the way of becoming a surgeon, if his conduct was satisfactory. Eddy Graham was a clever child; true, he had not much book-knowledge, but he had been in the habit of thinking a great deal during the long hours when he was left alone; the doctor, therefore, was highly satisfied with the intelligence he displayed.
“You have very much to learn, my little fellow, if you are to become a surgeon ; a great many dry books to read, a great many long hours to study, and you will have to think a great deal, and work a great deal; are you willing to promise to do all this ?”
“Do you think," said Eddy, looking at him, “ that I could ever cure people as well
as you do?”
Well, perhaps," said the surgeon, who could not help smiling, for though a very humble-minded man, he knew that he was one of the first in his profession—"with God's blessing you could; a great deal depends upon how you try:
“ With all my might,” said Eddy.
“There, that will do," said Dr. Kenton. “I must go to breakfast
I'll see what can be done."
Miss Avery asked the doctor at breakfast what he had made up his mind to do with the child.
“ To make him a surgeon,” said the doctor.
“Indeed !” said that lady; "and what will you do if you find he has not head enough for that profession ?”
“I intend, then, to make him an assistant in some chemist's shop; he can fill some subordinate situation and get his bread."
"Well, I'm willing to pay my share of
the expense,” said Miss Avery; “ I'll his clothes and half his schooling.
“ Very well," said the doctor. “I had intended to pay it all myself; I will lay by the other half for his future benefit."
Thus was Eddy Graham's destiny in life most wonderfully fixed, and a provision made for him, such as he could never have made for himself.
6 But what is to be done with his sister ?” said Miss Avery; “I think we ought to do something for her; it seems she's getting her bread by selling sugar-sticks and ornaments, for making which she has great taste.
“Oh yes,” said Doctor Kenton, “I know all about it; I have seen her several times at the hospital; as it was so necessary to the child's recovery that his spirits should be kept up, I gave directions that she was to be admitted every day. She brought him some of them while I was there."
“Well, I think if the little boy is to be made a surgeon, something ought to be done for his sister also. What do you think of having her bound to a confectioner? she seems to have a talent for such things, and I am willing to pay a premium with her.”
After a little more conversation on the matter, the doctor fell in with his sister-inlaw's view; and that lady made it her business that day to go and inquire after Mary