The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1857-01-08

an extra fire? Net the town. She says it is
"nothing but coh-he'll be well enough in
the spring-he's full Of notions list as his
mother was afore him-poor folks can't afford
to be notional-they've got somethin' else to
do; and Oliver says "yes," with that same
sweet, patient smile.
We do not read any more now, Ollie and L,
for he IS short of breath, and cannot read !;
neither do we tell stories at night as of old, but
he kisses my cheek, and says, family
Dear, dear Lima, how good you are to me!
and though something brings the tears to my
eyes every time he says this, yet / am very
strong, for he calls me good"
/ am ten years old; but were fifty, could
not wake more regularly when l hear that
hoarse, rafting noise in his throat, to give him
drink-drink, too often frozen to solid ice-or
to caulk with rags the worn, worm. eaten clap
boards, that let the snow come sitting through
upon his bed. Then, in the mornings-those
long, gray, cold, winter mornings-I wake to
find his eyes fixed upon the face of Christ in
the old picture-always on His face, with such
a pleading, expectant look. Then | think of
the stories of the miracles which he has told
me, and lie and wish, ah, how earnestly that
He would come, and lay His hands on him,
and heal him.
"He will, Lima. He will make me whole in
little WHILE" he says, when 1 tell him my
thoughts.
But l grow impatient. think, when Doc
tor Moore comes, looking SO wise and portly,
and uses such strange, hard words and leaves
such queer-smelling medicines, that perhaps
the time has come; but it lies not.in earthly
wisdom. Ollie gets worse instead of better,
and lose all faith.
Oh, those long, weary days of wailing! Weary
days and weary nights and Ollie growing weak
er and weaker, (he cannot get down stairs
now,) and l growing quieter and quieter for
his sake, and Mrs. Hunt darting about the
house as usual, and talking of the "spring and
folks that have the spleen"
Then He comes!
1t is night-night in the old lean-to garnet
room; the winter moon shines white and 81.
lent in the cold, wintry sky the small incur
tanned window is frosted all over with rare de.
vices, beautiful as dreams; the ice on the pond
cracks and splinters beneath the frost, and all
IS still again. | rise up in my little bed. Is it
Ollie that speaks?
"Lina!"
In a second, am by his side.
"Oh, Lima, I'm so cold-so dreadful cold"
he murmurs.
strip my own bed of its covering, to put
over him, and, crawling up on his bed, take
his hands in mine. They are like ice. / have
never felt such touch before-so cold and
damp.
Are you warmer now, Olie?"
There is no answer. think he sleeps, but
presently he murmurs and bend my head to
listen.
Suffer little children to come unto me. and
forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of
Heavenl"
l know the verse, broken and slow as the
words come. He has read it to me from his
little Bible; besides, it is in the story of the
Twin Lambs" and l am comforted.
ado yon feel better, Glie?"
Yes--lie down here, Lima; put your face
close to mine. l want to tell you something"
| creep under the cOverlid, and lay my cheek
close to his, with my arms about his neck. Still
he does not tell me-does not speak.
collie |"