ently beckoning toward wood and stream; the smooth
ground, rendered smoother still by blending lights and shadows, inviting
to runs and leaps, and long walks, nobody knows whither. It was more than
boy could bear, and with a joyous whoop, the whole cluster took to their
heels, and spread themselves about, shouting and laughing as they went.
" 'T is natural, thank Heaven!" said the poor schoolmaster, looking after
them, "I am very glad they did n't mind me."

Toward night, the schoolmaster walked over to the cottage where his little
friend lay sick. Knocking gently at the cottage door, it was opened
without loss of time. He entered a room where a group of women were
gathered about one who was wringing her hands and crying bitterly. "O
dame!" said the schoolmaster, drawing near her chair, "is it so bad as
this?" Without replying, she pointed to another room, which the
schoolmaster immediately entered; and there lay his little friend,
half-dressed, stretched upon a bed.

He was a very young boy; quite a little child. His hair still hung in
curls about his face, and his eyes were very bright; but their light was
of heaven, not of earth. The schoolmaster took a seat beside him, and,
stooping over the pillow whispered his name. The boy sprung up, stroked
his face with his hand, and threw his wasted arms around his neck, crying,
that he was his dear, kind friend. "I hope I always was. I meant to be,
God knows," said the poor schoolmaster. "You remember my garden, Henry?"
whispered the old man, anxious to rouse him, for dullness seemed gathering
upon the child, "and how pleasant it used to be in the evening time? You
must make haste to visit it again, for I think the very flowers have
missed you, and are less gay than they used to be. You will come soon,
very soon now, won't you?"

The boy smiled faintly--so very, very faintly--and put his hand upon his
friend's gray head. He moved his lips too, but no voice came from them,--
no, not a sound. In the silence that ensued, the hum of distant voices,
borne upon the evening air, came floating through the open window. "What's
that?" said the sick child, opening his eyes. "The boys at play, upon the
green." He took a handkerchief from his pillow, and tried to wave it above
his head. But the feeble arm dropped powerless down. "Shall I do it?" said
the schoolmaster. "Please wave it at the window," was the faint reply.
"Tie it to the lattice. Some of them may see it there. Perhaps they'