large chamber where he lay so cosey, warm, and pleasant, with the
gay chintz curtains draping doors and windows, the rosy carpet,
comfortable chairs, and a fire glowing in the grate.

"I shall see that she suffers for nothing, so don't trouble your kind
heart about her to-night, but try to sleep; that's what you need,"
answered his mother, wetting the bandage on his forehead, and
putting a cool hand on the flushed cheeks.

Jack obediently closed his eyes and listened while the boys sang
"The Sweet By and By," softening their rough young voices for his
sake till the music was as soft as a lullaby. He lay so still his
mother thought he was off, but presently a tear slipped out and
rolled down the red cheek, wetting her hand as it passed.

"My blessed boy, what is it?" she whispered, with a touch and a
tone that only mothers have.

The blue eyes opened wide, and Jack's own sunshiny smile broke
through the tears that filled them as he said with a sniff,--

"Everybody is so good to me I can't help making a noodle of
myself.

"You are not a noodle!" cried Mamma, resenting the epithet. "One
of the sweet things about pain and sorrow is that they show us how
well we are loved, how much kindness there is in the world, and
how easily we can make others happy in the same way when they
need help and sympathy. Don't forget that, little son."