"The sun will melt it soon, and I can wait,--I can wait, Walter;
it's but a little while;" and Jamie, with a patient smile, turned
his face to the dim window and lay silent.
Higher and higher crept the sunshine till it shone through the
frostwork on the boy's bright head; his bird awoke and carolled
blithely, but he never stirred.
"Asleep at last, poor, tired little Jamie; I'll not wake him till
the day is warmer;" and Walter, folding the coverings closer over
the quiet figure, sat beside it, waiting till it should wake.
"Jamie dear, look up, and see how beautifully your last rose has
blossomed in the night when least we looked for it;" and Bess came
smiling in with the one white rose, so fragrant but so frail.
Jamie did not turn to greet her, for all frost had melted from the
boy's life now; another flower had blossomed in the early dawn, and
though the patient face upon the pillow was bathed in sunshine,
little Jamie was not there to see it gleaming on the cross. God had
remembered him.
Spring showers had made the small mound green, and scattered flowers
in the churchyard. Sister Bess sat in the silent room alone, working
still, but pausing often to wipe away the tears that fell upon a
letter on her knee.
Steps came springing up the narrow stairs and Walter entered with a
beaming face, to show the first rich earnings of his pen, and ask
her to rest from her long labor in the shelter of his love.
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