"Very good children they've always been to me, and I must tell their father that, for he laid it on them to be good to me. But I'm glad of a quiet half-hour with you, dear. Sometimes I think you're nearer my heart than my own children. You're so young, I suppose that's it. It's just the day, Fred, and very near the hour, when you came knocking, with your little soft hand, at the door yonder. I think I'd like to die to-night. I'd like to be able to say, 'Lord, I'm only a poor ignorant and hardworking woman, and it was very little I ever could do, beyond earning my bread; but there was one thing—the boy that was sent to me this very night many years ago, I took him for Thy sake, and I wasn't bad to him.' I think I'd like to say that."
"It is less than the truth, dear Mrs. Betty. You saved me from misery, and made me as happy as one so parted from his own people, and with Frank dead, could ever be. And you'll meet Frank."
"I'll tell him that you were worth saving," said the old woman, fondly. "Now, my dear, just one word. I've no doubt you'll do well and prosper. The doctor's fond of you, and he's a good man. But when you're a gentleman, with learning, and money and all your heart can desire, don't you forget what I say to you now: If you let those things fill your heart so that you forget God, and never read the Bible, nor go to church, nor pray, it would have been better for you if you had died there on my hearthstone along with your little brother. Don't turn God's favour into a misfortune, Fred. Mind, Frank's waiting for you in heaven. Do you know why I say all this? Because I do fancy that, although the doctor and his wife are kind and good, and will be true friends to you, yet you won't learn from them such lessons as I'd have you put first of all. Don't forget God, Fred dear, nor begin to have high thoughts of yourself, and forget that you're just a sinner, and want the Saviour, and will never get to heaven any other way. Will you remember, dear?"
"I will, Betty. God helping me, I will. Oh, dear Betty, how good you've been to me!"
"And you to me. Ah, here's John and my good Deb. Go you, Fred, and get a little rest. You're tired out, I know."
Before the day dawned, the simple, true-hearted old woman had breathed her last. And none of her children or grandchildren mourned for her more truly, nor half so long, as did the boy she had so lovingly befriended.
[CHAPTER XI.]
MRS. RAYBURN'S LETTER.