His wasted hand rested lovingly on the bowed head of his father, who faltered out: “Yes, Ben, I’ll try, I will, so help me God.”
“And He will help you, father, I’ll ask Him, now; He will hear me because I am going to die,” and folding his hands reverently, Bennie prayed, “Oh, Jesus, man Jesus, I mean; please keep father from getting drunk, and don’t let him trade at the groceries where they sell it; then he won’t see it and want it so bad, and make him a good man, for Christ’s sake.”
Bennie’s voice ceased, and for a long time there was silence in the room, broken at last by the sound of steps outside, and Maggie came rushing in, her arms full of presents and her cheeks glowing with excitement and exercise. But she stopped quickly when she caught sight of Bennie’s face. It was very white, with a rapt look upon it, as if he were already lost to earth and was listening to “the shouts of them who triumph, the song of them that feast.” But her voice called him back and his eyes sparkled with pleasure for a moment as she spread his presents before him, and told him how many times his name had been called.
“Six times; ’most as often as Wallie Morgan’s; and look, here’s a Christmas card, and a bran-new suit of clothes, and a ball, and a top, and a jumping jack, and—and—oh, Bennie, guess what else; a pair of skates from Wallie Morgan.”
She had kept the skates for the last, knowing how her brother had wanted them, and now, at sight of them, he did seem to brighten up, and took them in his hands and examined them carefully; then, laying them where he could see them, he said, “Yes, I’m so glad, and they are all so good. I’d like to skate just once. I know I could beat Tom Carter in a little while; but, Maggie, I’m going to die. It came to me to-night. I’m going where Jesus is, and pa is not going to drink anymore, and Hetty must stay home nights, and you must be a real good girl, and not romp and tear your clothes so much.”
“Oh, Bennie, Bennie,” and all the brightness was gone from Maggie’s face as she dropped beside the bed, and seizing her brother’s hand begged of him to stay with her and not leave her all alone.
“Father and Hetty will be with you, and Jesus, too,” the pale lips whispered, and then Bennie’s mind began to wander, and he talked strange things of the Tree of Life, which he said was hung with tapers and beautiful gifts, some of which were for him, and he listened to hear his name, bidding his father and sisters keep very quiet lest he should fail to catch the sound.
All night they sat by him, scarcely daring to move, while, with closed eyes and parted lips, he lay listening—listening—till over the snow-clad town the grey morning broke and the Christmas chimes were rung from the church tower; then with a triumphant voice he cried, “There, he has called me at last, little Bennie Hewitt, he said. Didn’t you hear his voice? He’s there, with something for me. I’m going now. Good-bye. Tell Miss Morgan she told me the way, and I love her for it. I wish more ladies would hunt up the poor little boys on the canal. I’m going up the aisle, and the music is playing, too. Such music! oh, Maggie, don’t you hear it? It’s better than the ‘Silent Night,’ and I hear the heavenly hosts sing ‘Alleluia.’ Little Bennie Hewitt they call. Yes, I’m coming—coming—coming. A golden harp and golden crown. That’s what is on the tree for me and joy forever and forever. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye.”
Little Bennie was dead and the Christmas he had looked forward to so eagerly was kept with the Saviour he loved, and when Miss Nellie came to inquire for him she found only a white wasted form which her own hands made ready for the grave. The new suit of clothes which was to have kept him warm, were put upon him, and flowers from the Morgan conservatory were placed in his hands and on his pillow, and over the little coffin bitter tears were shed and promises were renewed as the wretched father whispered to himself, “I’ll keep my word to Ben. I’ll try to be a man.”