down a step, she so arranged
it that it fell over David too.

"Ah! never mind me. I am not so delicate as all that, mamma," said
David, laughing, but he did not throw the shawl off, but rather drew a
little nearer, and leaned on her lap.

"See the evening star, mamma. I always think--"

David stopped suddenly.

"Of papa," said his mother, softly.

"Yes, and of the many, many times we have seen it together. We always
used to look for it coming home. Sometimes he saw it first, and
sometimes I did; and oh! mamma, there don't seem to be any good in
anything now," said he, with a breaking voice.

Instead of speaking, his mother passed her hand gently over his hair.

"Will it ever seem the same, mamma?"

"Never the same, Davie! never the same! We shall never see his face,
nor hear his voice, nor clasp his hand again. We shall never wait for
his coming home in all the years that are before us. It will never,
never be the same."

"Mamma! how can you bear it?"

"It was God's will, and it is well with him, and I shall see him again,"
said his mother, brokenly. But when she spoke in a minute her voice was
clear and firm as ever.

"It will never be the same to any of us again. But you are wrong in one
thing. All the good has not gone out of life because of our loss."

"It seems so to me, mamma."

"But it is not so. We have our work in the world just as before, and
you have your preparation for it."

"But I cannot make myself care for anything as I used to do."

"There must be something wrong then, Davie, my boy."

"Everything is wrong, I think, mamma."

"If _one_ thing is wrong, nothing can be right, David," said his mother,
stooping down and kissing him softly. "What did your father wish first
for his son?"

"That I should be a good soldier of Jesus Christ. I know that, mamma."

"And you have been forgetting this? That hast not changed, Davie."

"No, mamma--but--I am so good for nothing. You don't know--"

"Yes, I know. But then it is not one's worth that is to be considered,
dear. The more worthless and helpless we are, the more we need to be
made His who is worthy. And Davie, what do we owe to `Him who loved us,
and gave Himself for us?'"

"Ourselves, mamma, our life, our love--"

"And have you given Him these?"

"I don't know, mamma."

"And are you content not to know?"

"I am not content--but how am I to know, mamma," said David, rising and
kneeling down on the broad stone be