The boy grasped my hand a moment--gasped out "That's Jessie's mother,
something's happened"--and then bounded up the stairs and into the
room. I followed him and found sure enough something had happened, for
Jessie had gone to the land of pure delight, and the mother stood
weeping beside her dead. On the face of Jessie lingered a smile, for
she was well at last. In her hand was a pure white rosebud, the last
flower Joe had carried to her the evening before. Her last message to
him was that she had gone to the land of pure delight, and for him to
be sure and follow her there.

I draw the curtain over the boy's grief. His savings bought the coffin
in which Jessie was laid under the green sod. Where "His Royal
Highness" is, must for the present remain a secret between Joe and
myself. His face and his feet are turned toward the land of pure
delight. His heart is there already. You have his story, and it may
help you to remember that some paupers wear fine linen and broadcloth,
while here and there a prince is to be found clothed in rags.




PATIENT GRISELDA.

Many years ago, in a lovely country of Italy, shut in by Alpine
mountains, there lived a noble young duke, who was lord over all the
land. He was one of a long line of good princes, and his people loved
him dearly. They had only one fault to find with him, for he made good
laws, and ruled them tenderly; but alas! he would not marry. So his
people feared he would not leave any son to inherit his dukedom. Every