William rose to receive old David, and said, “It was a fine spring day.” David gave a warm squeeze to his hand, and sat down. He rose and went to the bed. William followed him, and took the cloth off the boy’s face in silence. They both gazed on it. The face was unchanged, as in sleep. The flaxen curls seemed to have been carefully arranged, for they escaped from under the white cap, and clustered like golden wreaths around the silvery forehead and cheeks. William covered up the face, and both returned to their seats by the fireside.
“I never lost ane since my ain wee Davie dee’d, and yours, Willie, was dear to me as my ain,” exclaimed the old man, and then broke down, and sobbed like a child.
William never moved, though his great chest seemed to heave; but he seized the poker and began to arrange the fire, and then was still as before. By-and-by, the door of the inner room opened, and Jeanie and her mother appeared, both of them composed and serene. The same scene was repeated as they passed the bed. Mrs. Armstrong seated herself beside her husband, and Jeanie placed a large Bible on the table, and, pointing to it, said, “Father,” and then drew her chair near the smith.
William never moved, though his great chest seemed to heave.
David Armstrong put on his spectacles, opened the Bible, and selecting a portion of Scripture, reverently said, “Let us read the Word of God.” The house was quiet. No business on that day intruded itself upon their minds. It was difficult for any of them to speak, but they were ready to hear. The passages which old David selected for reading were 2 Samuel xii. 15-23, Matthew ix. 18-26, and John xi. 1-44. Having closed the book, he said, with a trembling but solemn voice, “God, who doeth all things according to the counsel of His own will, has been pleased to send us a heavy affliction. ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away!’ May He enable us to say at all times, ‘Blessed be the name of the Lord.’ For whether He gives or takes away, He is always the same in love and mercy. If He takes away, it is but to give something better, for He afflicts us to make us partakers of His holiness. Our wee one is not dead; he only sleepeth.” Here David paused, but recovering himself, said, “Yes, his body sleepeth in Jesus till the resurrection morning. He himself is with Christ. He is alive, in his Father’s bosom. Oh, it is strange to think o’t, and hard to believe! but, blessed be God! it’s true, that—that—Jesus Christ, who sees us, sees him, and sees us thegither, ay, enoo!—” continued David thoughtfully, like one pondering on a new truth; “this very minute we are all in His sight! Oh, it’s grand and comforting; our wee Davie is in the arms of Jesus Christ!” A solemn silence ensued. “The bonnie bairn will never return to us, but we shall go to him, and some o’ us ere lang, I hope. Let us pray.” And they all knelt down, and a true prayer, from a true heart, was spoken, from suffering parents, to Him “of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named.”
To David’s surprise and great satisfaction, he heard William utter Amen to his prayer, which included honest confession of sin; expressions of thankfulness for mercies, enumerating very many mercies, among others, the great gift of their child, thus taken away, with thanks for all he had been, and for all he then was; with trustful petitions for grace to help them in their time of need.
That afternoon Dr. M‘Gavin called, and manifested quiet, unobtrusive, but most touching sympathy. His very silence was eloquent affection.
“I’m proud to meet wi’ you, sir,” said old Armstrong, after the Doctor had been seated for a while. “Although I’m no’ o’ your kirk, yet we’re baith o’ ae Kirk for a’ that.”