running a given distance by day.

Now, however, he was a helpless captive, given over to all sorts of
coddling, laziness, and luxury, and there was a droll mixture of
mirth and melancholy in his face, as he lay trussed up in bed,
watching the comforts which had suddenly robbed his room of its
Spartan simplicity. A delicious couch was there, with Frank
reposing in its depths, half hidden under several folios which he
was consulting for a history of the steam-engine, the subject of his
next composition.

A white-covered table stood near, with all manner of dainties set
forth in a way to tempt the sternest principles. Vases of flowers
bloomed on the chimney-piece,--gifts from anxious young ladies,
left with their love. Frivolous story-books and picture-papers
strewed the bed, now shrouded in effeminate chintz curtains,
beneath which Jack lay like a wounded warrior in his tent. But the
saddest sight for our crippled athlete was a glimpse, through a
half-opened door, at the beloved dumb-bells, bats, balls,
boxing-gloves, and snow-shoes, all piled ignominiously away in
the bath-pan, mournfully recalling the fact that their day was over,
now, at least for some time.

He was about to groan dismally, when his eye fell on a sight which
made him swallow the groan, and cough instead, as if it choked
him a little. The sight was his mother's face, as she sat in a low
chair rolling bandages, with a basket beside her in which were
piles of old linen, lint, plaster, and other matters, needed for the
dressing of wounds. As he looked, Jack remembered how steadily
and tenderly she had stood by him all through the hard times just