"There, there, dear, don't," she soothingly said, "you will grow to be a brave strong man. You will fight this battle out, and win back our home and bring your own bride here in the far away days of sunshine and success I see for you. She will love you, and the flowers will blossom on the lawn again. But I am tired. Kiss me—I must go."
Her heart fluttered on for a while, but she never spoke again.
At ten o'clock Mrs. Durham tenderly lifted the boy from the bedside, kissed him, and said as she led him to his room,
"She's done with suffering, Charlie. You are going to live with me now, and let me love you and be your mother." ***** The Preacher had made a profound impression on his Boston congregation.
They were charmed by his simple direct appeal to the heart. His fiery emphasis, impassioned dogmatic faith, his tenderness and the strange pathos of his voice swept them off their feet. At night the big church was crowded to the doors, and throngs were struggling in vain to gain admittance. At the close of the services he was overwhelmed with the expressions of gratitude and heartfelt sympathy with which they thanked him for his messages.
He was feasted and dined and taken out into the parks behind spanking teams, until his head was dizzy with the unaccustomed whirl.
The Preacher went through it all with a heavy heart. Those beautiful homes with their rich carpets, handsome furniture, and those long lines of beautiful carriages in the parks, made a contrast with the agony of universal ruin which he left at home that crushed his soul.
