It was all he had strength to say,
now. John Nesbitt read from the Bible a verse or two now and then,
speaking slowly, that the dying man might hear. Then an old man, one of
the elders of the kirk, prayed by the bedside. The uneasy movement of
his head upon the pillow, and the aimless efforts of his hands to grasp
something, were the only signs of suffering that he gave; and when Effie
took his hand in hers, these ceased.

"If Christie would sing, I think I could sleep," he said. "Her voice is
like her mother's."

Effie beckoned to her sister.

"Try, Christie; try," she said.

But Christie's lips could utter no sound. John Nesbitt began, "The
Lord's my Shepherd;" and in a little time several trembling voices
joined. When they came to the verse:

"Yea, though I walk through Death's dark vale,
Yet will I fear no ill;
For Thou art with me, and Thy rod
And staff me comfort still,--"

they rose full, clear, and triumphant. They were the last sounds he
heard on earth. When they ended, Mrs Nesbitt's hand was gently laid on
their father's eyelids, and at the sight of that the children knew they
were orphans.

CHAPTER FIVE.

CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE.

When a great sorrow has just fallen upon us, we find it impossible to
feel that all things about us are not changed. We cannot imagine
ourselves falling into the old daily routine again. The death of one
dear to us gives us a shock which seems to unsettle the very foundation
of things. A sense of insecurity and unreality pervades all that
concerns us. We shrink from the thought that the old pleasures will
charm us again, that daily cares will occupy our minds to the exclusion
of to-day's sadness, that time will heal the wounds that smart so
bitterly now.

But it does; and as it passes, we find ourselves going the old rounds,
enjoying the old pleasures, doing the duties which the day brings; and
the great healer does his kindly office, to the soothing of our pain.
It is not that our bereavement is no longer felt, or that we have
forgotten the friend we loved. But the human heart is a harp with many
strings. Though one be broken, there are others which answer to the
touch of the wandering breezes; and though the music may be marred in
some of its measures, it is still sweet.

The young cannot long sit under the shadow of a great sorrow, if there
be any chance rays of sunshine gleaming. Besides, the poor have no time
to sit down and nurse their