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.
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