Yet the child could make him no answer, and sobbed as
though her heart were bursting.

"Why would you go, dear Nell? I know you would not
be happy when you heard that we were crying for your loss.
They say that Willy is in Heaven now, and that it's always
summer there, and yet I'm sure he grieves when I lie down
upon his garden bed, and he cannot turn to kiss me. But
if you do go, Nell," said the boy, caressing her, and
pressing his face to hers, "be fond of him, for my sake.
Tell him how I love him still, and how much I loved you;
and when I think that you two are together, and are happy,
I'll try to bear it, and never give you pain by doing wrong
--indeed I never will!"

The child suffered him to move her hands, and put them
round his neck. There was a tearful silence, but it was not
long before she looked upon him with a smile, and promised
him, in a very gentle, quiet voice, that she would stay, and
be his friend, as long as Heaven would let her. He clapped
his hands for joy, and thanked her many times; and being
charged to tell no person what had passed between them,
gave her an earnest promise that he never would.

Nor did he, so far as the child could learn; but was her
quiet companion in all her walks and musings, and never
again adverted to the theme, which he felt had given her
pain, although he was unconscious of its cause. Some-
thing of distrust lingered about him still; for he would
often come, even in the dark evenings, and call in a timid
voice outside the door to know if she were safe within;
and being answered yes, and bidden to enter, would take
his station on a low stool at her feet, and sit there patiently
until they came to seek, and take him home. Sure as the
morning came, it found him lingering near the house to ask
if she were well; and, morning, noon, or night, go where
she would, he would forsake his playmates and his sports
to bear her company.

"And a good little friend he is, too," said the old sexton
to her once. "When his elder brother died--elder seems
a strange word, for he was only seven year old--I remem-
ber this one took it sorely to heart."

The child thought of what the schoolmaster had told her,
and felt how its truth was shadowed out even in this
infant.

"It has given him something of a quiet way, I think,"
said the old man, "though for that he is merry enough at

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