r or two
this dreadful pain in my head will be relieved."

He went to his pleasant chamber, to his quiet bed, the physician was
summoned, and all that skill and the tenderest care could do was done,
but he rapidly drew near the grave. He was patient, gentle, grateful,
beautiful upon that bed of death, and while his mother's soul was poured
forth in earnest prayer, for his continued life, her heart swelled with
grateful thanksgiving for the sweet evidence he gave of a subdued and
Christian spirit, and she could say with true and cheerful submission,
"Not my will but _Thine_ be done, whether for life or death, for it is
well with the child."

Just at twilight one evening, he awoke from a short slumber, and his eye
sought his mother at his bedside. She leaned over him and softly pressed
her lips to his forehead. "Mother," he said, faintly, "the Doctor has
given up all hope of my life, has he not?" Nerving herself to calmness
for his sake, she answered, "He thinks you very sick, Charley, but I
cannot give up all hope. How can I part with you, my beloved?"

"Mother," said he, as he took her hand in both his, and laid it on his
breast, "I want, while I am able, to tell you how I feel, and I want you
to know what you have done for me. I was a passionate, bad tempered boy,
and you know father--" He stopped. "Mother, I should have been a ruined
boy but for you. I see it all now plainly. You have saved me, mother.
You have saved my soul. You have been my guide and comfort in life. You
have taught me to meet even death and fear no evil, for you have shown
me my sin, and taught me to repent of it, and love and trust the
precious Saviour, who died that His blood might cleanse even my guilt. I
feel that I can lie in His arms, sure that He has forgiven my sin and
washed my sinful soul white in His blood. How often you have told me He
would do it if I asked Him, and I have asked Him constantly, and He will
do it, He will not cast me off. Mother, when you think of me, be
comforted, for you have led me to my Saviour, and I rejoice to go and be
with Him forever."

The next sun arose on the cold remains of what was so lately the active
and happy Charles Arnold, and there was bitter grief in that dwelling,
for very dear had the kind and loving brother been to them. The father
was stunned--thunderstruck. Little had he expected such a grief as this,
and he seemed utterly unable to endure it, or to believe it. How much he
communed with his