Maggie, at the sick bed of Andre, slept even more than Leo.  She had a lounge in the room, placed near her charge, on which she rested comfortably, though she rose several times in the night to assure herself that all was well with her father.  In the morning Andre seemed to be in the entire possession of his faculties.  He had slumbered quietly all night, hardly opening his eyes after he took the doctor’s prescription.

He awoke before his attentive nurse.  He had but a faint remembrance of the events of the preceding evening; for, after he came out of the fit, he was in a kind of stupor.  He had noticed Maggie and Leo at the house of the banker; but everything seemed like a dream.

“Maggie,” said he, as he looked around the familiar apartment, and saw her lying on the lounge.

She sprang to her feet, and went to him, glad to hear the sound of his voice, but fearful that the call might be the prelude of another attack.  He smiled as she approached him, and made an effort to extend his right hand to her; but he could not move it.

“Father!” exclaimed the fond girl, as she bent over him and kissed his pale face, now slightly flushed with fever.

“I have been very ill,” he added.

“You have, indeed; but you are better now; and I am so glad, mon pere!”

“Ah, ma fille, you are a good girl!  You have been by my side all night.  It was selfish for me to wake you.”

“No, no!  It was not.  I’m glad you did.  I am so happy to find you better!”

“What ails me?  I can’t move my right arm, nor my right leg,” asked Andre, struggling to raise his limbs.  “There is no feeling in my right side.”

“The doctor will come by and by, and tell you all about it.”

“My head feels very strange,” added the sufferer.

“I am sorry, mon pere.  What can I do?” said Maggie, tenderly.

“Give me some cold water.”

She gave him the drink, supporting his head with her arm.  It was plain, even to Maggie, that Andre was in a very bad way.

“Go up stairs, and go to bed now, Maggie.  You have been up all night,” said he, with a loving glance at her.

“No, mon pere, I have no need to go to bed.  I have slept on the lounge nearly all night.  I feel quite bright, only I’m so sad to think you are sick.”

“I shall be well soon.  I must be well soon,” he added, looking anxiously at her.

“I hope you will be well soon; but it may be several weeks before you are able to go out,” replied Maggie, wishing to have him reconciled to his lot as soon as possible.

“Several weeks, Maggie!  O, no!  I must go to the shop sooner than that.”

“You must be very patient, mon pere.”

“I will be patient, Maggie; but I must go to the shop soon.”

“Don’t think of the shop yet.”

“My poor children!  What will become of you?  I have no money.  I must work, or you will starve, and be turned out of the house because the rent is not paid.  Indeed I must go to the shop, Maggie.”

“But you cannot.  You are not able to lift your right arm at all, and you are so weak you could not stand up.  Do be patient, and not think at all of the shop.”

“I must do as you bid me now, Maggie.”

“Then don’t think of the shop, or anything but our nice little home, where we have always been so happy.”

“How shall we pay the rent if I lie here?  Where will you get food to eat and clothes to wear?” demanded Andre, with something like a shudder of his paralyzed frame.

“Don’t think of those things.”

“I must.  I was wicked not to save up some money.”

“No, you were not wicked; you were always as good as you could be.  The good God will take care of us.”

“They will send us all to the almshouse.”

“No, no; Leo is going to make heaps of money!” replied Maggie, though she had not much confidence in her brother’s brilliant scheme, or even in the inventions that reposed in his active brain.  “Can’t you go to sleep again, mon pere?”

“I will try,” replied he, meekly.  “I will if you go to bed, and sleep.  What should I do if you were sick?”

“I shall not be sick.  I have slept enough.  I will go and make you some beef tea, and get breakfast for Leo.  I shall hear you if you call.”

Leo had made the fire in the cooking-stove, and in a short time the odor of fried sausages pervaded the house; the beef tea was in course of preparation, and the coffee was boiling on the stove.  Maggie was as busy as a bee; but every five minutes she ran into the front room, and asked Andre if he wanted anything.  She went to the front door, where the baker had deposited half a dozen two-cent rolls, each of which was nearly as big as one sold for five cents now.

For a girl of fifteen, Maggie was an excellent cook; indeed, she would have been regarded as a prodigy in this respect in our day and generation.  She had acquired all her skill from Andre, whose accomplishments were almost unlimited.  When he first came to Boston, he had boarded out; but, when Maggie was eight years old, he had taken this house.  At first he had done the housework himself, with what little help she could give him, till now she had entirely relieved him from any care of this kind.  At this time he had taken Leo from the almshouse, to be her companion in his absence.

Breakfast was soon ready; and Leo was called up from the workshop, where he had already got out a portion of the stock for four small mouse-houses, each intended to accommodate a single pair of mice.  He was still cheerful and hopeful, and went in to see Andre before he sat down at the table.  He told his father he was sure he could make ten dollars a week by his splendid enterprise.  He intended to take the palace he had finished up to State Street, for sale, at noon that day.  The problem would soon be solved, and he was already nearly as well satisfied as though he had the price of his curious merchandise in his pocket.

After breakfast he returned to the shop.  He was sad when he thought of staying away from school, and of giving up the medal he had set his heart upon; but, then, it was a very great pleasure to do something for his devoted father, who had been so good to him.  It was a great sacrifice that he was called upon to make; but there was no help for it, and he tried to yield cheerfully to the necessity of the occasion.  Gladly and hopefully he sawed and planed, and squared, and grooved, and mortised his work, and nailed the parts together.

At ten o’clock the doctor came.  He was as gentle and kind as he had been the evening before.  Andre was partially paralyzed on one side of his frame; but Dr. Fisher was quite hopeful of his patient, though it was not likely that he could go to work for some months.  The physician was much pleased with Maggie, and when he was taking his leave he asked for Leo.

“He is in his shop at work,” said Maggie.  “Every one that comes here goes down to see his white mice; perhaps you would like to do so.”

“I would,” replied the doctor, with one of those benevolent smiles which all who knew him will remember to the end of their days.

Maggie conducted him to the basement, and then returned to Andre’s chamber.  The doctor examined the cages and palaces with wondering interest, though the mice were all asleep in their lairs.  Leo put a little canary seed in the grand parade of each house, and this was quite enough to rouse them from their slumbers, and induce them to exhibit themselves to the astonished visitor.

“These are my performing mice,” said Leo, pointing to a house in which seven full-grown ones were nibbling the seed.

“What do they perform?” laughed the doctor.

“I’ll show you, sir.”

Leo swept out the canary seed from the grand parade, so that the little actors should have nothing to distract their attention.  Taking six little sticks-that looked something like guns-he rapped with his finger-nail on the floor of the house.  The seven mice stood up on their hind legs, in a straight line, like a file of soldiers.  He then gave each of the first six his musket, and to the seventh a sword.

“Shoulder-arms!” said he, with a movement of his forefinger, which probably had more effect than the words.

The mice, with becoming gravity, obeyed the order, and successively went through four movements in the manual of arms.  Then one of the little soldiers was deprived of his gun, and Leo explained that he was a deserter, and was to be shot for his crime.  At a movement of the boy’s forefinger, the culprit took his station at one side of the grand parade, while his companions formed a line on the other side, with their muskets pointed at the deserter.

“Fire!” said Leo, at the same time dropping a torpedo on the floor of the house, which exploded.

The infamous wretch of a white mouse, which had basely deserted his flag, dropped upon his back, and lay as still as though he had actually suffered the extreme penalty of martial law.  It must be added that the captain of the firing party was so frightened by the noise of the torpedo that he scampered away into his nest, much to the mortification of Leo; but he was recalled, and compelled to face the music at the head of his squad.

Leo rapped again on the floor, and the defunct mouse was suddenly resurrected.  The tragedy completed, the squad was dismissed, and immediately became white mice again, snuffing about the parade, doubtless wondering what had become of the canary seed, which was choice food, served out only on extra occasions.

“That is really wonderful,” said Dr. Fisher.  “Did you train them yourself?”

“Partly; but my father did most of it,” replied Leo, who proceeded to explain the method by which the little creatures had been educated.

“Leo,” said the doctor, as he was about to depart, “your sister seems to be a very sensitive young lady.  I wanted to ask her some questions; but I did not feel quite equal to it.  I will ask them of you; but I wish you to understand that I do so as your friend.”

The good physician then inquired into the circumstances of the poor barber.  Leo told him the exact truth, but assured him the family were in no need of assistance, and did not feel like accepting charity.  Modestly, and with much enthusiasm, he then stated in what manner he intended to support the family.

“Certainly there are plenty of people who would be glad to have some of your beautiful little pets, especially in these elegant houses you make,” added the physician.  “I would take one myself if I had time to attend to them.”  The doctor was a bachelor.

“I have no doubt I can sell them, sir.”

“I hope you will not take it amiss if I mention the fact among my friends and patients that you have them for sale,” added Dr. Fisher.

“No, sir; I’m sure I should not!  I should be very much obliged to you.”

“Then I will recommend your wares to those who are able to buy them; and I trust you will drive a large trade in the mouse business.”

The doctor went away; and Leo, encouraged by the promise of the powerful influence of his visitor, resumed his work.  At twelve o’clock, when Maggie called him to dinner, he had made considerable progress in the four houses in process of construction.  When he had finished his noonday meal, he went out and found Tom Casey, an Irish boy whom he had befriended in various ways.  Tom agreed to go with him to State Street; and the new “HOTEL DES MICE”-as it was labelled in large letters on the front gable-was loaded upon a little wagon of Leo’s build, and they started for the busy street, attended by a crowd of curious youngsters, of both sexes and of all conditions.

The mice were astonished at the sudden revolution which was taking place in their affairs; and Leo was as anxious as though the fate of the nation depended upon his success.