"The first to wake? Yes, that is it. 'I sleep, but my heart waketh; it is the voice of my Beloved.' 'The Lord Himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God, and the dead in Christ shall rise first. Blessed and holy is he that hath part in the first resurrection.'"
Was it the setting sun that cast such a bright light on the aged features as these words fell from his lips?
Clarice and Milly felt a strange awe as they watched him, and at last rose to wish him an affectionate good-night.
They never forgot that Sunday evening, for it was their last with him. On the page where lay the locks of hair and the rosemary, the silver spectacles were found. Old Jonathan did not need them more, for his eyes were no longer dim. He had gone to the land where—
"Everlasting spring abides,
And never-withering flowers."
The good old man was long and sincerely mourned by those who had proved his faithful friendship, and by the children who had loved to win his smile and blessing.
The family at Oaklands, with Mrs. Campbell and Robin, followed him to the quiet corner in God's garden where he was laid to sleep.
The little ones of the hamlet often strayed to the spot, and played with the daisies on his grave. He had loved them in his lifetime, so they naturally lingered near him now; and his white tombstone was a favourite primer, as they slowly spelt out the words underneath his honoured name:
"Blessed are they that do His commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city."
THE END