Peter’s head sunk on the table—he wept sorely and long. As he bent down, he felt the book his mother had just given him, which he had placed in his bosom. He took it out and began to read it. Promise after promise beamed forth from its sacred pages on his young soul, lighted by God’s Holy Spirit, for he took God at His word, and was comforted. After awhile he crept up the ladder to his little attic room, as Betsy had desired him, and was soon fast asleep.
He awoke at daybreak, not forgetting his duty to Farmer Ashton’s sheep, and when he got down-stairs he found his kind old friend waiting for him with a crust of bread and a bit of cheese.
“You must not disappoint the farmer,” she said; “I’ll do all that’s wanted for your poor mother.”
“I hadn’t forgot the sheep,” said Peter; “but, Betsy, may I see her? I could not go without!”
Betsy led him into the room. His mother’s face looked so calm and peaceable, just like an angel, he thought; he almost fancied she was asleep.
“Now go,” said Betsy, after he had gazed at her for some moments. “The red streaks are already in the sky.”
Peter lingered for a moment, then recollecting his duty, hurried down the hill to Mr Ashton’s farm.
His mother’s funeral took place a few days afterwards, he and Betsy and two or three other friends being the mourners.
He found to his dismay that he could not return to live at the cottage. He had had thoughts of taking up his abode there all by himself. During Mrs Gray’s illness debts had accumulated, and creditors claimed the little property, which had to be sold, and when his mother’s funeral expenses had been paid, four or five pounds only remained as the young orphan’s inheritance.
Betsy took him to her cottage, where he shared the bed of one of her grandchildren, and he continued as before to tend Farmer Ashton’s sheep.