passed, and by the beauty of your life showed me what mine should
be. Your courage shamed my cowardice; your faith rebuked my fears;
your lot made my own seem bright again. I, a man with youth, health,
and the world before me, was about to fling away the life which you,
a helpless little child, made useful, good, and happy, by the power
of your own brave will. I felt how weak, how wicked I had been, and
was not ashamed to learn of you the lesson you so unconsciously were
teaching. God bless you, Jamie, for the work you did that day."

"Did I do so much?" asked the boy with innocent wonder; "I never
knew it, and always thought you had grown happier and kinder because
I had learned to love you more. I'm very glad if I did anything for
you, who do so much for us. But tell me of the book; you never would
before."

With a kindling eye Walter replied,--

"I would not tell you till all was sure; now, listen. I wrote a
story, Jamie,--a story of our lives, weaving in few fancies of my
own and leaving you unchanged,--the little counsellor and good angel
of the ambitious man's hard life. I painted no fictitious sorrows.
What I had seen and keenly felt I could truly tell,--your cheerful
patience, Bess's faithful love, my struggles, hopes, and fears. This
book, unlike the others, was not rejected; for the simple truth,
told by an earnest pen, touched and interested. It was accepted, and
has been kindly welcomed, thanks to you, Jamie; for many buy it to
learn more of you, to weep and smile over artless words of yours,
and forget their pity in their reverence and love for the child who
taught the man to be, not what he is, but what, with God's help, he
will yet become."