There was a great deal of truth in what Jamie said, and there was not a grain of bumptiousness in him when he said it. He was not satisfied with his own work, and longed for the time to come when he would be able to take a course of study in Edinburgh. At last it came. Through the kindness of friends arrangements were made for his going to the Life School in the National Gallery, and his mother and he set out for the great metropolis, leaving the other children at home in charge of their grandparent. For two seasons he studied hard, and made wonderful progress in spite of the serious difficulties that had to be overcome. Every day a strong man had to take him in his arms and carry him up the long stone stairs leading to the gallery; he was then placed in his chair, from which he could not move unless with his mother’s aid. But he was brim full of enthusiasm, and his patience and perseverance were amply rewarded. His homecoming was hastened by the sickness of the sister next to him in age. She also had been an invalid for years, and had required a great deal of care. Her weakness, however, had not been without good fruit; her faith was strengthened, and her disposition, naturally sweet and placid, had an added sweetness and calmness, which endeared her to all who knew her. She was endowed with the same artistic taste as her brother, although not in the same degree. During the second winter of Jamie’s absence from home she contracted a severe cold, which developed into pneumonia. Everything that could be done was done, but she had no rallying powers. We sent for Mrs. Morton, who at once returned home, leaving Jamie in Edinburgh in the care of his younger brother. In two days it was evident that she could not, humanly speaking, recover, and I set out for Edinburgh to bring home the two brothers. What a sad journey that was! On the way home I tried to be as cheerful as possible, and to prepare both lads for what I felt to be the inevitable. Very little was said, but it was easy to see that Jamie was deeply moved, and that he realized upon how slender a thread his own life hung. By some misunderstanding on the part of the railway officials there was no order given to stop the train at our station. Here was a dilemma! I alighted at the nearest station at which the train was scheduled to stop, carried my poor boy into the waiting-room, and then set out to procure a closed carriage to convey us over the last seven miles of our weary journey. It was a bitterly cold night, and I was greatly alarmed lest Jamie should catch cold. Not a word of complaint escaped from him, not the least token of impatience, although I could see that his heart was full to bursting. Late at night the carriage drew up at the door; the poor mother came out to greet us; she did not require to speak--the set look of distraction in her face told us the sad news. We were too late by some hours. For a time both Jamie and his mother shrank within