“Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest, I wad fain be gangin’ noo unto my Saviour’s breast; For he gathers in his bosom witless, worthless lambs like me, An’ carries them himsel’ to his Ain Countree.” The time was nearer than they thought when he should go to his “Ain Countree.” Frankie would not believe that Aleck would die. When his mother told him that it must be, he ran at once to Aleck, and, throwing himself on the bed beside him, cried, “O Aleck, you are _not_ going to die. You _must_ get well. Why, you are only two years older than I am. You oughtn’t to die yet.” “Dinna feel bad, Frankie,” Aleck said, “I am sorry to leave you, but I’m glad to be wi’ mither, an’ O Frankie, think of it, how soon I sha’ see the Saviour. I wi’ wait for you. You wi’ mind a’ our talks about Jesus when I’m gone, Frankie, and try to do something for him every day. There’s Ben, an’ Joe, an’ Willie, an’ a’ the lads--tell them how guid it is to hae sic a friend as Jesus.” “Yes, I will, Aleck. I’ll try to do better, but I won’t have you to help me, and it seems so easy for me to do wrong.” “You wi’ hae Jesus. O Frankie, trust in Jesus.” Thus did the little sufferer, forgetful of self, seek to comfort others. Very tenderly did the Shepherd bear this wounded lamb away from the earthly fold to the shelter of the heavenly,--so quietly that they knew not when he died, but thought he slept. In his sleep he murmured faintly, “Mither,” and again, “Jesus loves me,” and a line of his favorite hymn, “he wi’ carry me himsel’ to his Ain Countree.” Then came a quiet slumber, followed by that sleep whose waking is in heaven. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER IX. THE VISIT TO ALECK’S GRAVE. THE FATHER’S RETURN. Frankie missed his friend sadly. He lost all interest in his school, and did not care for kites, or tops, or marbles. He grew pale, and very unlike the once happy little fellow, “With eyes so full of brightness, And lips so rosily red.” One Sabbath morning in the early autumn he went with his mother to the cemetery. There was as yet no stone at Aleck’s grave, but Frankie had planted a white rose-bush, which was then in all its snowy bloom. “We must take up the rose-bush,” said Mrs. Western. “It is an exotic, and cannot endure our severe frosts and snow.” “What is an exotic?” asked Frankie.