Winter snow gave place to the spring flowers, and now Aleck can go into the yard, with our sturdy Frankie for a support. The boys are together nearly all the time. Aleck, with his gentle ways, to soften the more boyish nature of our robust little hero, and Frankie, with his merry heart, to brighten the life of his suffering friend.

It was Aleck who helped him out of trouble; who urged him to be gentle and forgiving, even to Ben Field; to obey his mother; and to try in every way to please Jesus. It was Aleck who studied the hard lesson first and then helped him, and who sharpened all the slate-pencils; who made the tops and kites and buzz-wheels, and, in short, shared in all of Frankie’s play and work.

But as the summer heat came on, the busy hands grew strangely idle. Mrs. Western noticed the change and tried at first by giving simple tonics, then by employing a physician, to restore his strength, but it was in vain. He would lie for hours on a couch before the open window, dreamily watching the soft summer sky, and listening to the singing of the birds.

He seldom roused from this dreamy state, excepting to listen to the reading of the Bible, or to his favorite hymn, “My Ain Countree.” Two of the verses he would say over and over to himself.

The time was nearer than they thought when he should go to his “Ain Countree.” Frankie would not believe that Aleck would die. When his mother told him that it must be, he ran at once to Aleck, and, throwing himself on the bed beside him, cried, “O Aleck, you are not going to die. You must get well. Why, you are only two years older than I am. You oughtn’t to die yet.”

“Dinna feel bad, Frankie,” Aleck said, “I am sorry to leave you, but I’m glad to be wi’ mither, an’ O Frankie, think of it, how soon I sha’ see the Saviour. I wi’ wait for you. You wi’ mind a’ our talks about Jesus when I’m gone, Frankie, and try to do something for him every day. There’s Ben, an’ Joe, an’ Willie, an’ a’ the lads—tell them how guid it is to hae sic a friend as Jesus.”

“Yes, I will, Aleck. I’ll try to do better, but I won’t have you to help me, and it seems so easy for me to do wrong.”

“You wi’ hae Jesus. O Frankie, trust in Jesus.”

Thus did the little sufferer, forgetful of self, seek to comfort others. Very tenderly did the Shepherd bear this wounded lamb away from the earthly fold to the shelter of the heavenly,—so quietly that they knew not when he died, but thought he slept. In his sleep he murmured faintly, “Mither,” and again, “Jesus loves me,” and a line of his favorite hymn, “he wi’ carry me himsel’ to his Ain Countree.” Then came a quiet slumber, followed by that sleep whose waking is in heaven.