t up the question, what if
Johnny should die?--It was overwhelming to Faith for a minute; her
little scholar's loveliness had got fast hold of her heart; and she
loved him for deep and far-back associations too. She could not bear to
think that it might be. Yet she asked herself if this was a reasonable
feeling? Why should she be sorry--if it were so--that this little
blossom of Heaven should have an early transplanting thither? Ah, the
fragrance of such Heaven-flowers is too sweet to be missed, and Earth
wants them. As Faith looked sadly out into the night, watched the
eternal procession of bright stars, and heard the low sweep of the
wind, the words came to her,--separated from their context and from
everything else as it seemed,--"I, the Lord, do all these things." Her
mind as instantly gave a glad assent and rested itself in them. Not
seen by her or by mortal the place or fitting of any change or turn of
earthly things, in the great plan,--every one such turn and change had
its place, as sure as the post of each star in the sky--as true to its
commission as that wind, which came from no one knew where to go no one
knew whither. Faith looked and listened, and took the lesson deep down
in her heart.

Mr. Linden's little basket had stood him well in stead that long
night,--for Faith had said truth; nothing was for him in Mr. Fax's
house. Mr. Fax was well enough satisfied that Johnny's teacher should
take the trouble of nursing the child, had no idea that such trouble
would necessarily involve much loss of sleep, and still further no
notion of the fact that a watcher at night needs food as much as fire.
Fire Mr. Linden had, but he would have been worse off without the
stores he found in his basket. In truth the supply generally was
sufficient to have kept him from starving even if he had been obliged
to go without his breakfast; but Dr. Harrison concerned himself about
his little patient, and was better than Mr. Linden's hopes. He came,
though in the cold short February morning, a good while before eight
o'clock. He gave Mr. Linden a pleasant clasp of the hand; and then made
his observations in silence.

"Is this one of your favourites?" he said at length.

A grave "yes."

"I am sorry for it."

Mr. Linden was silent at first, looking down at the child with a sort
of expression the doctor had not often seen, and when he spoke it was
without raising his eyes.

"Tell me more particularly."

"I don't know myself,"