Bethany told him of their errand. "Who could have brought more?" she said, touching the shining yellow flower; "for with this little drop of gold is the myrrh of a childish grief, and the frankincense of a loving remembrance." She felt that he could appreciate the pathos of the gift, and the love that prompted it. They had grown so much closer together in the last twenty-four hours. "You've been here nearly all day, haven't you?" he asked, noticing her tired face. "I wish you would go home and rest, and let me take your place awhile." He insisted so kindly that at last she yielded. Her sympathies had been sorely wrought upon during the day, and she was nearly exhausted. After she had gone, he sat down with his overcoat on, near the front window. There was only a smoldering remnant of a fire in the grate. The last rays of the sunset were streaming in between the slats of the shutters. He could hear the boys playing in the snowy streets, and the occasional tinkle of passing sleighbells. "I wonder where Lee is," he thought. He had not seen the child since morning. Two working men came in presently. They looked long and silently at the doctor's peaceful face, and tiptoed awkwardly out again. The minutes dragged slowly by. The heavy perfume of the flowers made David drowsy, and he leaned his head on his hand. The door opened cautiously, and Lee looked in. His eyes were swollen with crying. He did not see David sitting back in the shadow. Only one long ray of yellow sunlight shone in now, and it lay athwart the still form in the center of the room. Lee paused just a moment beside it, then slipped noiselessly over to the grate. There was a pile of books under his arm. He stirred the dying embers as quietly as he could, and one by one laid the books on the red coals. They were the ones Jack had so unreservedly condemned. Last of all he threw on a dogeared deck of cards. They blazed up, filling the room with light, and revealing David in his seat by the window. "O," cried Lee in alarm, "I didn't know any one was in here." Then leaning against the wall, he put his head on his arm, and began to sob in deeper distress than he had yet shown. He felt in his pocket for a handkerchief, but there was none there. David took out his own and wiped the boy's wet face, as he drew him tenderly to his knee. "Now tell me all about it," he said. Lee nestled against his shoulder, and cried harder for awhile. Then he sobbed brokenly: "O, I've been so bad, and he never knew it! I came in here early this morning before anybody was up, to tell him I was sorry--that I would be a good boy--but he was so cold when I touched him, and he couldn't answer me! O, papa, papa!" he wailed. "It's so awful to be left all alone--just a little boy like me!" David folded him closer without speaking. No words could touch such a grief.