He half looked the question which yet needed no answer, looking down then again at the little ransomed one in his arms, as he said in the same low voice, wherein mingled a note of the church triumphant through all its deep human feeling,—
"'And they sung a new song, saying, Thou art worthy to take the book and to open the seals thereof, for thou wast slain: and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood, out of every kindred, and tongue, and people and nation'!"
"And," said Faith presently, lower still,—"can't you, as Bunyan says, hear the bells of the city ringing for joy!—"
Those "choral harmonies of heaven, heard or unheard," were stilling to mortal speech and even mortal feeling. Very quietly the minutes and the hours of that day succeeded each other. Quietly even on the sick child's part; more so than yesterday; nature succumbed gently, and the restless uneasiness which had marked the night and the preceding day gave place gradually before increasing faintness of the bodily powers. There was little "talk" called for after that time—hardly any, though never a word met his waking ear that did not meet the same grateful, pleased manner and smile. But the occasions became fewer; Johnny slumbered gently, but more plainly a sleep that was nearing the end, in the arms of his best friend, who would let him even when unconscious have no worse resting-place—would let every faint waking minute find the same earthly love about him that had been his dearest earthly refuge and stay. But earth was having less and less of her little immortal tenant; and as the hours of the afternoon began to tell of failing light and a fading day, it was plain that the little spirit was almost ready to wing its way to the "city that hath no need of the sun."
Mr. Fax came in sometimes to look at the child, but never staid long—never offered to take him out of the hands he perhaps unconsciously felt were more of kin to him, spiritually, than his own. Out of the room, he sat down in the midst of his visitors and said nothing. He seemed bewildered—or astounded. "I never knowed," he said once, "till that girl told me. I heard what the doctor said at night—but I didn't think as he was any wiser than other doctors—and their word's about as good one side as 'tother."
At the edge of the evening Reuben came in to say that Mr. Skip was there with the sleigh.
"Let him put Jerry in the stable and go home," Faith said softly to Mr.
Linden. "One of Mr. Fax's men can harness him any time."
"Dear Faith!" he said, "you had better go with him."
"I can't go, Endecott. Don't tell me to go,"—she said with a determinate quietness.
"How can I let you stay?—you ought not to watch here all night—unless there were something for you to do."