On Picket Duty, and Other Tales by Louisa May Alcott
page 94 of 114 (82%)
page 94 of 114 (82%)
|
That familiar sight recalled the past; he thought of Jamie, and
seemed to hear again the childish words, uttered long ago, "God will remember us." Steps came and went along the lonely street, but the dark figure in the shadow never stirred, only stood there with bent head, accepting the silent rebuke that shone down upon it, and murmuring, softly,-- "God remember little Jamie, and forgive me that my love for him led me astray." As Walter raised his hand to dash away the drops that rose at the memory of the boy, his eye fell on the ring he always wore for his dead mother's sake. He had hoped to see it one day on Bess's hand, but now a generous thought banished all others and with the energy of an honest purpose be hastened to sell the ring, purchase a little food and fuel, and borrowing a warm covering of a kindly neighbor, he went back to dispense these comforts with a satisfaction he had little thought to feel. The one lamp burned low; a few dying embers lay upon the earth, and no sound broke the silence but the steady rustle of Bess's needle, and the echo of Jamie's hollow cough. "Wrap it around Bess; she has given me her cloak, and needs it more than I,--these coverings do very well;" and as he spoke, Jamie put away the blanket Walter offered, and suppressing a shiver, hid his purple hands beneath the old, thin cloak. "Here is bread, Jamie; eat for Heaven's sake, no need to save it |
|