"Sing something for me, mother," implored the boy; "or I shall never have courage to look you in the face again." She went on stroking his hair, but was silent. "Do sing, mother dear," he implored again; "or I shall go far away, and never come back any more." Though he was now almost fifteen years old, he lay there with his head in his mother's lap, and she began to sing: "Merciful Father, take in thy care The child as he plays by the shore; Send him Thy Holy Spirit there, And leave him alone no more. Slipp'ry's the way, and high is the tide; Still if Thou keepest close by his side He never will drown, but live for Thee, And then at the last Thy heaven will see. Wondering where her child is astray, The mother stands at the cottage door, Calls him a hundred times i' the day, And fears he will come no more. But then she thinks, whatever betide, The Spirit of God will be his Guide, And Christ the blessèd, his little Brother, Will carry him back to his longing mother." She sang some more verses. Arne lay still; a blessed peace came over him, and under its soothing influence he slept. The last word he heard distinctly was, "Christ;" it transported him into regions of light; and he fancied that he listened to a chorus of voices, but his mother's voice was clearer than all. Sweeter tones he had never heard, and he prayed to be allowed to sing in like manner; and then at once he began, gently and softly, and still more softly, until his bliss became rapture, and then suddenly all disappeared. He awoke, looked about him, listened attentively, but heard nothing save the little rivulet which flowed past the barn with a low and constant murmur. The mother was gone; but she had placed the half-made shirt and his jacket under his head. IV. THE UNLAMENTED DEATH. When now the time of year came for the cattle to be sent into the wood, Arne wished to go to tend them. But the father opposed him: indeed, he had never gone before, though he was now in his fifteenth year. But he pleaded so well, that his wish was at last complied with; and so during the spring, summer, and autumn, he passed the whole day alone in the wood, and only came home to sleep. He took his books up there, and read, carved letters in the bark of the trees, thought, longed, and sang. But when in the evening he came home and found the father often drunk and beating the mother, cursing her and the whole parish, and saying how once he might have gone far away, then a longing for travelling arose in the lad's mind. There was no comfort for him at home; and his books made his thoughts travel; nay, it seemed sometimes as if the very breeze bore them on its wings far away.