Frank Muir had lifted Fred in his strong arms, and turned to Bess inquiringly.
"Home, please; that is, if you can carry him there. It is so near, and Mrs. Walsh has so much now. Oh, Frank, am I to blame?" And she shuddered at the thought.
"To blame; no! Of course not. But I can carry him easily, and we shall need you, so you mustn't fail us." And he looked at her anxiously, for she seemed about to faint.
It was some time before Fred was fully restored to consciousness, and then, while Bess and her mother dressed his slightly burned face and hands, Frank Muir sat by his side, trying to cheer and calm him. It was a long afternoon, for Fred was feverish and nervous, and needed all their care. They let him talk but little, but he told them how he had left the boys, intending to go to the hammock, but, thinking of the hay, he had gone into the barn instead, where he had fallen asleep, and waked to find the air around him filled with smoke. After that, he remembered nothing more until he waked in his own bed, with them all around him. Then he was ordered not to talk, so he lay, sleeping but little, till far into the night, while Bess anxiously hovered over him, suffering even more than he did from the burns which she fancied had been caused by some neglect on her part.
Late the next day, he was so much better that they thought it safe to tell him about Sam. The boy's grief was beyond any words, but, clinging to Bess, he sobbed bitterly, as he learned the sacrifice so nobly made for him. As he gradually became calmer, Bess said to him gently, as she stroked his hair,—
"Fred, my dear boy, Sam has willingly given his life for yours, and nothing can change that now. He is at rest and happy. There is only one thing you can do,—live each day so that, as he looks down on you and watches you, he can be happier still in feeling that the life he saved was the life of a true, noble boy, who deserves the sacrifice."
The story of the fire had been told on all sides, and early the next afternoon the great house on the hill was full, and many were gathered outside on the lawn, for honest, manly Sam had, unknown to himself, many a friend; and now young and old, boys and girls, men and women, had gathered to do honor to the young soldier who had gained "the victor's crown of gold."
The deep hush of sadness as Mr. Washburn slowly began, "I am the resurrection and the life," was only broken, now and then, by a sob from some one who suddenly realized what a large place the quiet boy had filled in all their hearts. Fred had insisted on being present, and with Bess sat near the family, looking sadly worn from his burns, and his sorrow for the friend who had saved him.
But the prayer was ended, and on the quiet that followed rose the sweet boy voices, for Sam's mother had asked the four friends to sing for her son, as they had so often sung with him. Clearly and firmly they began,—
"Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on."