“No,” he replied, hardly able to speak, “I not sick, but I have got ze pain in my life,” placing his little hand on his chest, “dot bees all.  Vile I hear ze birds sing in ze park, I not know it, and I sleep on ze ground; and vile I sleep I tink my moder and ze baby, and Meme mit her, come vare I be.  I tink zey all come fon Himmel, and I see zem, and I talk mit zem, and zey talk mit me, and zey say dot I vill go mit zem; but ven I vake I bees sleep on ze ground, and ze big rains have come down, and zey have vet me too vet, and I bees too cold; and ven I tink I come to ze house, I not fine ze vay; and I have got ze pain in my head, and ze pain in my neck.  Long time I not fine ze vay; zen long time Bridget ce come, and ce bring me to ze house, and ce put me in ze bed; and in ze night I have got ze pain in my life.”

I knelt down before the dear, stricken lamb, and blaming my neglect of him, I kissed him many times, and tried to smooth the pain from his little brow; but what I felt, words can never speak.

The next morning Little Jakey was regularly installed in the sick-room.

Days passed, but the doctors would not say that they thought him any better.  Some days, however, he was able to be pillowed up in an arm-chair, and amuse himself a little with the toys the children were constantly bringing him; for by this time the desire to do something for Little Jakey had come to pervade the whole house.

Once, sitting by his little bed, I discovered that he was trying very hard to keep awake, and I said to him softly,—­

“Dear Jakey, why do you not shut those sweet eyes of yours, and go to sleep?  Surely you must be sleepy.”

“Yes, but I tink I not sleep.  Vile I sleep, ze pain make me groan, and Mattie ce hear me, and ce not sleep.”

Mattie was then very sick also, and lying on a little bed not far from his.

One day Mr. Artman, a German, called on Jakey, who asked for his little box of moneys, which had been presented to him mostly by visitors, and placing it in Mr. Artman’s hand, he said to him, in his own sweet way,—­

“You vill keep ze leetle box mit you.  Von time Jeem and Fred vill come in ze America, and ven zey come, you vill give ze big money to Jeem, and ze leetle moneys to Fred; and you vill tell zem dot I have go im Himmel mit my moder, and mit ze baby, and mit Meme.”

IX.

One warm day when I visited Little Jakey his bed had been drawn around facing the window, and I found him sitting bolstered up there, with his long black curls lying out on the pillows.

“My dear,” said I, “I have brought you a bouquet, and let us pull it into pieces and see what we can make of it.”

Soon Little Jakey’s bed was strewn over with the flowers.  I do not remember ever having seen him so cheerful as he was that evening.  Making a little hoop from a piece of wire, I twined him a wreath, while he amused himself handing me the flowers for it, and feeling over their soft leaves, and asking their names.  Whether large or small, he never asked the name of the same kind of flower but once.  When we placed it on his little head,—­