Below them lived the young man, no stranger now, but a true friend, whose generous pity would not let them suffer any want he could supply.  Hunger and cold were hard teachers, but he learned their lessons bravely, and though his frame grew gaunt and his eye hollow, yet, at heart, he felt a better, happier man for the stern discipline that taught him the beauty of self-denial and the blessedness of loving his neighbor better than himself.

The child’s influence remained unchanged, and when anxiety or disappointment burdened him, the young man sat at Jamie’s bedside listening to the boy’s unconscious teaching, and receiving fresh hope and courage from the childish words and the wan face, always cheerful and serene.

With this example constantly before him, he struggled on, feeling that if the world were cold and dark, he had within himself one true affection to warm and brighten his hard life.

“Give me joy, Jamie!  Give me joy, Bess! the book sells well, and we shall yet be rich and famous,” cried the young author as he burst into the quiet room one wintry night with snow-flakes glittering in his hair, and his face aglow with the keen air which had no chill in it to him now.

Bess looked up to smile a welcome, and Jamie tried to cry “Hurrah;” but the feeble voice faltered and failed, and he could only wave his hand and cling fast to his friend, whispering, brokenly,—­

“I’m glad, oh, very glad; for now you need not rob yourself for us.  I know you have, Walter; I have seen it in your poor thin face and these old clothes.  It never would have been so, but for Bess and me.”

“Hush, Jamie, and lie here upon my arm and rest; for you are very tired with your work,—­I know by this hot hand and shortened breath.  Are you easy now?  Then listen; for I’ve brave news to tell you, and never say again I do too much for you,—­the cause of my success.”

“I, Walter,” cried the boy; “what do you mean?”

Looking down upon the wondering face uplifted to his own, the young man answered with deep feeling,—­

“Six months ago I came into this room a desperate and despairing man, weary of life, because I knew not how to use it, and eager to quit the struggle because I had not learned to conquer fortune by energy and patience.  You kept me, Jamie, till the reckless mood was passed, and by the beauty of your life showed me what mine should be.  Your courage shamed my cowardice; your faith rebuked my fears; your lot made my own seem bright again.  I, a man with youth, health, and the world before me, was about to fling away the life which you, a helpless little child, made useful, good, and happy, by the power of your own brave will.  I felt how weak, how wicked I had been, and was not ashamed to learn of you the lesson you so unconsciously were teaching.  God bless you, Jamie, for the work you did that day.”

“Did I do so much?” asked the boy with innocent wonder; “I never knew it, and always thought you had grown happier and kinder because I had learned to love you more.  I’m very glad if I did anything for you, who do so much for us.  But tell me of the book; you never would before.”