And then his head fell back heavily on his father's arm.
Yes, the angels had come, and the little Child of Light had gone away with them.
It was only Stephen's tiny worn-out body which his father laid back on the bed. Stephen was gone. He had passed above the churchyard; he had left the old city behind; he had gone higher than the moonlight, higher and higher still, to the King's Garden.
Were the two grandchildren who died young looking out for him at the glorious gate? Was the mother who had died when he was born waiting and watching for her boy? We cannot tell, we do not know; but we can tell, we do know, that the dear Lord he loved, the Saviour who had taken away his sin, and who had removed him from the Kingdom of Darkness to the Kingdom of Light, was there to welcome him to His paradise of everlasting glory, where the Children of Light dwell in no earthly sunshine, but the glory of God doth lighten it, and the Lamb is the Light thereof.
They all missed him terribly, yet they tried to comfort themselves by thinking of his joy, and they all looked forward to the day when they would see him again.
"Mr. Robin, sir, you must teach me as you taught my little lad," said Stephen's father, as they walked home from the tiny grave in the cemetery where Stephen's body had been laid.
"God helping me, I will!" said Mr. Robin, with tears in his eyes.
It was wonderful how Stephen's loss drew them all together. Even Aunt Cordelia, who used to pride herself on making no neighbours, seemed to have become one of a very loving family. As for old Joe, his one desire was to do all the little lad would have liked him to do. He comforted Audrey, he watered the graves, he went to church on Sunday—above all, he said the prayer Stephen had taught him, and he tried to walk as one of the Children of Light.
Mr. Robin and Audrey made another expedition to the market on a Saturday afternoon late in the autumn. Audrey's face was very sorrowful this time as she carried the basket. They were not buying flowers, for there were few flowers in the market now; they were looking for bulbs, and the bulbs were for little Stephen's grave.
"I think they ought to be white," said Audrey, with a sob; "it will look more like a Child of Light—won't it, Mr. Robin?"