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BY D. T. KILBOURN.
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(Concluded from page 75.)
As Arthur approached the city, the sun was sinking behind the snowy clouds, wreathing its trail of gorgeous light around their fleecy summits, then stretching along the blue horizon, until its brilliant folds, resting upon the leafless trees, swept o’er the barren earth, bathing field, mountain, air, sky and water, in one flood of golden light. A fitting robe to herald forth the natal dawn of man’s Redeemer.
As Arthur gazed upon the beauteous scene, enhanced by the music of the merry sleigh-bells as they glided past, and the hurrying to and fro of gladsome faces, his heart leapt for joy, and he bounded along, forgetting his fatigue as the sweet face of the little Amy rose before him, radiant with smiles, at his return. He felt her little arms fondly clinging about his neck, and her warm caress upon his cheek; and oh, how distant seemed that pile before him, as his yearning heart leapt to her embrace.
And then came the time when he would come to take her away. And the past year, too, rose before him—his struggles mid scorn and reproach, to be a man, that he might take her to his own home, and be always near her. What cared he if they did laugh, and call him a poor alms-house boy, if one day he might always have his loved sister near him? That sister who looked so much like their dear, dead mother. He wondered if she had grown—and how she looked; and thus his happy heart glowed with fond anticipations of the future.
Entering the gate, and passing rapidly round the main building, with a beating heart, he rapped at the door of that part occupied by the children.
A stranger ushered him in, but in a few moments Mrs. Williams stood before him. In his joy he sprung to meet her.
“Why, Arthur, is this you? How you’ve grown! and so altered, I scarcely know you! But who would have thought of you?”