He could hear the gentle voice saying, "Don't give up your prayers, Dick!"
Picture followed picture—memory followed memory. Sad enough, some of them.
His life looked poor and bad in the retrospect. He had not heeded the words of kindly friends. He had grown hard and rough and selfish,—and now—
He started, and found that he had been asleep, and that the fire had burned low. As he hastened to mend it, a soft, cold touch came on his hand,—then another, and another. He looked up at the sky, and saw that the stars were no longer visible. The snow had come.
Dick shook his head.
"Going to be a big storm, I 'm afeared," he muttered. "Wonder how long I 've been asleep, now?"
He piled more sticks upon the fire, wrapped his thick coat tightly about him, and lay down to sleep again.
