"I used to wonder as I lay in bed how she would look to people a long way off. I didn't know she was quite so bright. I think they must be taking good care of her, Jim."
"Yes, I think so, she's bright enough of nights. I can just see her as I lie awake in bed—through that gap in the trees. It makes me think about the Lamp to our feet and the Light to our path."
"Oh, yes," answered Pat quickly and eagerly, "that's what mother said too, Jim, and she said something else as well; I wonder if I could remember it. I think it was about you. I know it made me think of you directly she said it."
"About me?" questioned Jim absently, his eyes still on the light.
They had paused now upon a little bit of rising ground to look over the sea. A short distance to the right, a little bit farther up the hill, twinkled the lights from a charming little lodge, within the rose-covered walls of which Eileen was stepping to and fro setting out the supper, whilst Nat smoked his pipe by the handful of fire, looking the picture of contentment and well-being. Pat could see the lights from both his past and present home as he stood beside Jim on the brow of the rising ground, waiting till the man should have recovered breath to go on, for going up hill always tried him a little, even though he went slowly. But it was their habit to stand thus a few minutes looking out towards the lighthouse, especially after dark, when the rays of the lamp could be seen; and now Pat took up the word again and went on eagerly—
"Yes; mother was saying that when she looked out at night and saw the light, and the great track it made in the water, it made her think about some words in the Bible, where it says about the 'path of the just shining more and more unto the perfect day.' And when she said it I thought of you, Jim, and I said to mother, 'Isn't that what Jim's path does, mother?' And she said, 'Yes, Pat, I think it is; because Jim seems to me to be going on more and more to the perfect day than anybody I ever saw before.' So it must be like you, Jim, for mother always knows."
Jim made no response in words; but Pat saw him draw his hand softly across his eyes. Presently he laid his hand upon the boy's shoulder, and there was something in the touch that made Pat look suddenly up. He met a glance of such affection and tenderness that for the moment he felt half startled, and then Jim spoke in tones that faltered a little with the deepness of his feeling.
"You mustn't think too well of me, Pat; you don't know what I've been through in the dark before the light came. I'm the last man in the world as should be spoken of so. But I do know that my sins are washed away. I do know that He's taken the burden off my back. He's led me into the light now, and I think He'll keep me there to the end. But, Pat, it was your little hand that first pointed the way. I can't see how I should ever have found it if the Lord hadn't sent you to show it me. There's never a night as I lie watching the light, and thinking of that other Light that lighteth every man that cometh into the world, if so be as he'll turn his eyes towards it, but that I think of those old days of black darkness, when there wasn't a ray of light in my poor heart. And then I think of how the light came, and how He sent it to me. For it must have been His doing all the while that you came to Lone Rock, Pat, and taught me to know that we were never alone if so be as we would take the Lord at His word, and go to Him across the blackness and the darkness."
THE END.