THE PARTING SCENE.
In one of our western cities was a poor woman, in the garret of a
lonely house, who was very sick, and near dying. She had two children,
a brother and sister, who knelt beside her bed to catch her dying
words. "Annie, my daughter," said the mother, "soon, and your young
brother will have no earthly friend but you; will you, my daughter, be
to him a faithful sister?"
"Yes, mother, _I will_," said the daugh
er, as she wiped away her
tears.
And then she laid her hand upon the head of her son, and said, "Be a
good boy, Willy, and mind your sister; she is but three years older
than yourself, but as far as her knowledge goes, she will be a guide
for you; and she and you have a Father in Heaven who will never leave
you. Will you promise to do as she wishes?"
Willy raised his eyes to his mother, and bowed his head in token of
assent, and then burst into tears. The mother was a Christian, and
putting her arm around the neck of Willy, and with the other hand
clasping her daughter, she calmly said to them, "Weep not, dear
children, you will find friends; God is the father of the fatherless.
Keep in mind that his eye is upon you; be honest and virtuous,
faithful and believing, and all things will work together for your
good."
The dying mother could say no more; her breath grew short, and
stretching out her arms, she cried, "My dear children, I must leave
you: let me kiss you--God bless and keep----"
Her arms fell from around them, the words died away on her lips, and
her weary soul departed.
After the funeral of this mother, the moon shone brightly into the
desolate chamber, and revealed a beautiful scene, that of a sister's
love.
Anna sat near the window, and little Willy lay his weary head in her
lap. They were now without father or mother. Sleep had stolen upon the
weary eyes of Willy. Anna smoothed back the dark hair, which hung over
his brow, then carefully raised his slender frame in her arms and laid
him upon his bed. Then seating herself beside him she thought of her
mother's last request to take care of Willy.
"Yes," she exclaimed, "I must begin to-morrow. I will go out and try
to get some work, for poor Willy must remain at school. Dear boy," she
exclaimed, "I will never see him suffer." You will, in the next story,
find