had called
him a brother, was gone, and here he was alone!

The others were taking their dear one once more to the church where they
had so often prayed that he might have a happy issue out of all his
afflictions.

They were met by Mr. Cope, ending his loving intercourse with Alfred by
reading out the blessed promise of Resurrection--the assurance that the
body they were sowing in weakness would be raised in power; so that the
noble boy, whom they had seen fade away like a drooping flower, would
rise again blossoming forth in glory, after the Image of the
Incorruptible--that Image, thought Mr. Cope, as he read on, which he
faithfully strove to copy even through the sufferings due to the
corruptible. His voice often shook and faltered. He had never before
read that Service; and perhaps, except for those of his own kin, it could
never be a greater effort to him, going along with Alfred as he had done,
holding up the rod and staff that bore him through the dark valley. And
each trembling of his tone seemed to answer something that the mother was
feeling in her peaceful, hopeful, thankful grief--yes, thankful that she
could lay her once high-spirited and thoughtless boy in his grave, with
the same sure and certain hope of a joyful Resurrection, as that ripe and
earnest-minded Christian his father, or his little innocent brother. It
was peace--awful peace, indeed, but soothing even to Ellen and Harold,
new as they were to grief.

But to poor Paul at home, out of hearing of the words of hope, only
listening to the melancholy toll of the knell, and quite alone in the
disarranged forlorn house, there seemed nothing to take off the edge of
misery. He was not wanted to keep Alfred company now, nor to read to
him--no one needed him, no one cared for him. He wandered up to where
Alfred had lain so long, as if to look for the pale quiet face that used
to smile to him. There was nothing but the bed-frame and mattress! He
threw himself down on it and cried. He did not well know why--perhaps
the chief feeling was that Alfred was gone away to rest and bliss, and he
was left alone to be weary and without a friend.

At last the crying began to spend itself, and he turned and looked up.
There was Alfred's little picture of the Crucified still on the wall, and
the words under it, 'For us!' Paul's eye fell on it; and somehow it
brought to mind what Alfred had said to him on Christmas Day. There was
One Who had no home on eart