a grave and lowered the loved one. He was doctor, nurse,
casket-maker, grave-digger, comforter and priest. His reverent lips had
long known the language of prayer.

With tireless zeal the mother joined in this ministry of love, and the
Boy saw her slender dark figure walk so often beside trembling feet as
they entered the valley of the great shadow, that he grew to believe
that she led a charmed life. Nor did he fear when Dennis came one
morning and in choking tones said that both his uncle and aunt were
stricken in the little half-faced camp but a few hundred yards away. He
was sorry for Dennis. He had never known father or mother--only this
uncle and aunt.

"Don't you worry, Dennis," the Boy said tenderly. "You'll live with us
if they die."

They both died within a few days. The night after the last burial,
Dennis crawled into the loft with the Boy to be his companion for many a
year.

And then the blow fell, swift, terrible and utterly unexpected. He had
long ago made up his mind that God had flung about his mother's form the
spell of his Almighty power and the pestilence that walked in the night
dared not draw near. An angel with flaming sword stood beside their
cabin door.

Last night in the soft moonlight a whip-poor-will was singing nearby and
he fancied he saw the white winged sentinel, and laughed for joy.

When he climbed down from his loft next morning his mother was in bed
and Sarah was alone over the fire cooking breakfast.

His heart stood still. He walked with unsteady step to her bedside and
whispered:

"Are you sick, Ma?"

"Yes, dear, it has come."

He grasped her hot outstretched hand and fell on his knees in sobbing
anguish. He knew now--it was the angel of Death he had seen.

XIII

Death stood at the door with drawn sword to slay not to defend, but the
Boy resolved to fight. She should not give up--she should not die. He
would fight for her with all the hosts of hell and single-handed if he
must.

He rose from his knees still holding her hand, his first hopeless burst
of despair over, his heart beating with desperate resolution.

"You won't give up, will you, Ma?" he whispered.

She smiled wanly and he rushed on with breathless intensity: "I'm not
going to let you die. I won't--I tell you I won't. I'll fight this
thing--and you've got to help me--won't you?"

"I'm ready for God's will, my Boy," she said simply.

"I don't want you to say that!" he pleaded. "I want you to fight