And where was Rover, faithful, affectionate Rover, in these mournful days? The poor animal moaned and howled perpetually. He would it through the whole day and night, upon the stairs leading to Arthur's room, endeavoring to gain admittance, and when driven away, would contrive to return to his post, watching with intense eagerness those who entered or left the room; continually making that dismal moaning which a dog in distress usually does. It was heartrending to hear him. One day, they allowed him to enter the room, hoping it might quiet him; he jumped upon the bed instantly, and disturbed the suffering child so much that he was never permitted to go in again. Poor Arthur! he no longer had a smile or caress even for Rover, the companion of his lonely hours, the sharer of his exile! He did not even notice him, except by raising his hand to keep him off.
After three weeks of severe suffering, a change came over the beloved child. The physician thought it barely possible that such a crisis might terminate favorably, and had prescribed powerful stimulants, but it was soon evident that he was rapidly sinking in spite of them. He suffered no longer, but the shadows of the grave were gathering upon his face, and it was not probable he would survive till morning. But Mrs. Hamilton did not wish any one to sit up by his bedside except herself. "They were wearied," she said, "by watching; she should not sleep if others watched, and if any thing was needed, she would call them." So she passed the night alone with her sweet boy. In after years, I have often heard her speak of it. It was one of those glorious moonlight October nights. The loveliest of landscapes lay before her eye as she stood by the window, and gazed out upon the scene. Green hills, with intersecting valleys, forest trees lifting their tops toward the sky, wide-spreading pasture lands, and, threading its way among them, a little mountain-stream, bright and pure as innocence itself; all these were visible, and over all, lay that holy moonlight bathing each object in its spiritual radiance. Who would imagine, to look on the earth on such a night, that it could be filled with sin and suffering, that those glorious skies bent over breaking hearts, and opening graves? The scene was full of calming influences, and the heart of the mother as she gazed, was soothed and elevated. She felt the presence of God who had made the universe; and she knew that while he guided those glorious orbs in their courses, he also felt compassion and love for her poor suffering heart. He had afflicted her, and He, in his infinite power and love, knew so much better than she what was best and good, that it was pleasant to commit all her interests into his hands.
Her older son, her bright, beloved boy, had gone she believed to mingle his songs in a purer worship than that of earth, and would she call him back from glory? As she lifted her eyes up to the serene heavens, she almost fancied she heard his voice, saying, "He doeth all things well, do not fear to trust him." And when she returned to her dying child, it was with a feeling of sweet confidence. "I will not fear to trust him, even with this darling child. His gentle spirit was not fitted for earthly strifes; now it shall expand in an atmosphere of perfect love. 'The Lord gave him, the Lord taketh him away; blessed be his name.'"
The dying boy breathed gently, and looked as if in a sweet sleep, sometimes a smile would play around his mouth, as if he were in a pleasant dream. There was no perceptible change till nearly morning, then Mrs. Hamilton called Mr. and Mrs. Martin. They stood in tearful silence round his bed, (for they loved Arthur almost as a child), watching his shortened breathing. There was no pain, no sigh, but as the morning light gleamed across the eastern hill, the spirit passed away.
CHAPTER IX.
THE SECOND GATHERING.
Once more the family stood together under the cottage roof; once more the neighbors and friends one by one, silently passed in; once more a coffin stood upon the table, and aged men and women, and middle-aged and children looked into it with weeping eyes; once more stifled sobs were heard; once more that mother with her children sat in the inner room; but not all; all were not there. The pale weeping boy was no longer clinging to his mother's side. He slept; and tears would never dim his eyelids more.
Sweet, gentle Arthur; his dust was now fair to look upon. He had never been a beautiful child, but his face wore a sweet and mild expression in life, and it was serene and sweet in death. Once more, the voice of prayer was heard, and the sweet hymn was sung; once more they walked to the place of graves; and he, who just eight weeks before had stood weeping there, was now gently laid down to sleep "that sleep, which knows not waking" till "the trump of God shall sound."
"Unvail thy bosom, faithful tomb!
Take this new treasure to thy trust;
And give these sacred relics room
To slumber in the silent dust."
Once more, slowly and sadly, the stricken family went to their home, now still more vacant--still more desolate! Once more Christian faith shed its soul-cheering light into the aching heart; once more the sorrowing found "there was balm in Gilead, and a physician there."