sing.

When bed-time came, Charley wanted to beg his Mother to think of some
other punishment for him. He wanted his dear brother so much. He looked
at Henry, but Henry said, "Good-night, little fellow. We deserve this.
Come!--one night will soon be over. Now, let us see how well you can
behave;" and he gave him a smile, and a kiss so full of love, that the
little fellow put his lips tight together, and marched off to bed
without a tear. It was pretty hard to do it, but he had this kind
brother to set him a good example, and he was determined to be as good a
boy as Henry.

Not many weeks after this, poor little Charles was taken sick. He was
very sick indeed, and every day he grew worse. The doctor did all he
could for him, and Henry staid with him night and day, and would hardly
take any rest. He gave him all his medicine, and sang to him very often
when he was in pain. But Charles did not get any better, and at last,
the doctor said that he could not make him well--the little boy must
die.

When Henry heard this, the tears burst from his eyes, and he sobbed out,
"Oh my brother! Oh my brother! I cannot part with you, my little
precious brother."

The poor little fellow had become so weak and thin that he could
scarcely lift his hands from the bed where he lay.

The last night came. He knew that he would not live many hours, for his
dear Mother had told him so; and now she told him, that as he had always
tried to be a good boy, he would go to Heaven, and Jesus would take him
into his bosom, and love him, and keep him, until they came to him.

His little pale face grew bright. "Dear Mother," said he, "will Jesus
let my brother come to me? I want my brother in Heaven. Come here close
to me," said he to Henry. His brother leaned his face down close to the
little boy's face, and helped him clasp his arms around his neck, and
then he whispered, in a soft weak voice, "Do not cry, dear brother, do
not cry any more. I will pray to Jesus, to let you come very soon and
sing me to sleep in Heaven."

These were the last words he spoke, for his breath grew shorter and
shorter, and soon after his little hand dropped away from his brother's,
and he was dead.

His Father had him buried in Greenwood Cemetery.

It was in the summer time that he died, and his brother Henry planted a
white rose-bush at the foot of the little grave, and a red rose-bush at
the head, and often in the pleasant summer afternoons he would go alone
to