With a kindling eye Walter replied,—­

“I would not tell you till all was sure; now, listen.  I wrote a story, Jamie,—­a story of our lives, weaving in few fancies of my own and leaving you unchanged,—­the little counsellor and good angel of the ambitious man’s hard life.  I painted no fictitious sorrows.  What I had seen and keenly felt I could truly tell,—­your cheerful patience, Bess’s faithful love, my struggles, hopes, and fears.  This book, unlike the others, was not rejected; for the simple truth, told by an earnest pen, touched and interested.  It was accepted, and has been kindly welcomed, thanks to you, Jamie; for many buy it to learn more of you, to weep and smile over artless words of yours, and forget their pity in their reverence and love for the child who taught the man to be, not what he is, but what, with God’s help, he will yet become.”

“They are very kind, and so are you, Walter, and I shall be proud to have you rich and great, though I may not be here to see it.”

“You will, Jamie, you must; for it will be nothing without you;” and as he spoke, the young man held the thin hand closer in his own and looked more tenderly into the face upon his arm.

The boy’s eyes shone with a feverish light, a scarlet flush burned on his hollow cheek, and the breath came slowly from his parted lips, but over his whole countenance there lay a beautiful serenity which filled his friend with hope and fear.

“Walter bid Bess put away that tiresome work; she has sat at it all day long, never stirring but to wait on me;” and as he spoke, a troubled look flitted across the boy’s calm face.

“I shall soon be done, Jamie, and I must not think of rest till then, for there is neither food nor fuel for the morrow.  Sleep, yourself, dear, and dream of pleasant things; I am not very tired.”

And Bess bent closer to her work, trying to sing a little song, that they might not guess how near the tears were to her aching eyes.

From beneath his pillow Jamie drew a bit of bread, whispering to his friend as he displayed it,—­

“Give it to Bess; I saved it for her till you came, for she will not take it from me, and she has eaten nothing all this day.”

“And you, Jamie?” asked Walter, struck by the sharpened features of the boy, and the hungry look which for a moment glistened in his eye.

“I don’t need much, you know, for I don’t work like Bess; but yet she gives me all.  Oh, how can I bear to see her working so for me, and I lying idle here!”

As he spoke, Jamie clasped his hands before his face, and through his slender fingers streamed such tears as children seldom shed.

It was so rare a thing for him to weep that it filled Walter with dismay and a keener sense of his own powerlessness.  Ho could bear any privation for himself alone, but he could not see them suffer.  He had nothing to offer them; for though there was seeming wealth in store for him, he was now miserably poor.  He stood a moment, looking from brother to sister, both so dear to him, and both so plainly showing how hard a struggle life had been to them.