Is the child, then, to pass away uneasy, with a cloud upon his happiness; or must a miracle be worked in his favor? Must Heaven open and show him the army of innocents standing at the right hand of God? No. God's ways are not as our ways: infinite in power, He yet reveals Himself by the simplest means. As once before He sent the child consolation so will He send it now. As once before, not by signs and wonders, but by the gift of sleep, so now, not by miracles and visions, but by the voice of his baby brother. "Talk to me, Humphie. Don't go to sleep yet. I haven't said my hymn. Fardie said I might say it to you to-night. Shall I say it now?" Without waiting for an answer, Miles raised himself on his knees, and put his little hands together. Then arose the sound of the baby voice: "Around the throne of God in Heaven Thousands of children stand; Children whose sins are all forgiven, A holy, happy band. Singing Glory, Glory, Glory." * * * * * Faster and louder comes the rushing and singing, but the misgiving is lulled to rest. Faster and faster, louder and louder, surging around him. But hushed are the doubts at once and for ever, and the fear has vanished away! Loud in his brain sounds the song of the children, throbbing there almost to pain; beating so loud as to stun and confuse him. Everything seems to be turning and whirling; and, as if to save himself, he opens his eyes. On what a sight did they fall! There, close before him, bathed in light, and a glory round her brow stands the figure of his mother, looking down upon him with a smile. And with a glad smile of welcome he stretched out his arms, and cried, "Has God sent you to fetch me at last, mother? Oh, mother, I'll come! I'll come!" * * * * * Those who were standing round, saw only the expression of pain change to the old sunny smile. His lips moved, and he lifted his arms, as his eyes were raised for a moment, to the picture above him, on which the sun was pouring a dazzling light. They closed; but the smile, intensely radiant, lingered about the parted lips; the short breathing grew shorter ... stopped ... and then.... "It's no use my saying the rest," said little Miles in a whisper, "for Humphie has gone to sleep." _Finis._ End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Misunderstood, by Florence Montgomery