"Does Mr. William Bell live here?" asked a rather rough-looking man in a voice which was distinctly heard in the parlor.
"He does," replied Mrs. Bell, but he has not yet returned from New York, although I expect him every minute."
"I suppose you do, mum, but—but" The man hesitated, and fumbled his hands in the pockets of his short coat.
"But what?" questioned Mrs. Bell, shortly.
"He's been hurted, mum, on the railroad."
"Hurt? My husband hurt?" cried the woman, turning deadly pale.
"Yes, mum. Not very bad, mum, but pretty bad, too. They told me to come ahead an' tell you to have a place fixed for him. Here they are now, mum."
Mrs. Bell gave a shriek which brought Franklin to her side instantly.
"Your uncle has been hurt, perhaps killed!" gasped the poor woman. "See, here they come now with him!"
Mrs. Bell pointed down the street, and her breast heaved violently.
Franklin looked in the direction, and by the rays from the electric light on the corner, saw several men approaching through the snow with a baggage truck, upon which lay a motionless form covered with a white cloth.
