"I would have preferred to lose all my other pigeons than to have lost Whitey, for that was little Jordie's pet."
Then he drew a perfect picture of the lost bird and placed it in a nook in the barn, underneath these words:
"Whitey, nine years old."
With all the many virtues and the thoughtfulness of this little boy, he was not mawkish in his manner. At times, when deeply impressed, he was solemn in word and look; but he was full of healthy sentiment, and was bubbling over with energy and brightness.
CHAPTER II.
ACCIDENTS TO BRIANT—HE IS ORDAINED TO THE PRIESTHOOD—PATIENT ENDURANCE OF HIS SUFFERINGS—HE IS BLESSED TO BE AN ELDER AND THEN SLUMBERS IN DEATH.
In October last, 1886, with a number of companions Briant was playing on a trapeze at the house of a friend, when he fell and broke his right arm. After the accident, Briant did not hurry to his home, which was only a block away; but an hour later his father found him at the doctor's office, where the arm had been set. Briant was perfectly composed; and, instead of crying as most boys do when a new sympathiser comes, he gave his first thought to his mother, who had been quite ill and had not yet entirely recovered. He said to his father:
"I hope mamma does not know of this. If not, then we will keep it from her; because she would worry a great deal, and the anxiety might make her worse."
When they went home Briant bounded into the house with a smile on his lips, and in reply to his mother's anxious questions he said: