such treacherous thoughts against a dear old chum like him, even for a moment. "Peace! peace!—this last night, at any rate!" whispered a still, small voice within my heart. "You surely would not part from an old friend, with a feeling of resentment against him in your heart,-when you have spent a whole half together and have never known an unkind word or look from him all the time, would you?" Well, if I felt any lurking bitterness against a fellow, it would not be possible to preserve it long, when that fellow was the rollicking, good-natured Scamp. Here he was before me, his hand outstretched, and such a jolly, kindly smile beaming on 'his scarlet cheeks, as he cried, with a good-humoured laugh, in the same old joking strain,— "Good-bye, young 'un. And when we meet again next half, I hope you will give yourself rather more airs than you seem to have just now, and that is not a thing I would say to most fellows. Hope the holiday airs will set you on your feet again pretty quick, Master Ayres! Good-bye, good-bye." "Good-bye. And I hope you will come back less of a Scamp than you are now," I retaliated, emphasizing my words every here and there with an expressive nod, as I did my best to return the pressure of his farewell grasp by squashing his hard hand tightly in both of mine. Harry Morland and Mat Davis edged their way up to me next, and the latter, in the excess of his warmth at parting from me for so long, kissed me affectionately on both my cheeks, which made the other boys laugh, though every one was in far too good a humour with themselves, and everything around them, to utter any contemptuous remarks. Then, the leave-taking over, I was "extinguished "—as Willie Knowles said-by the thick folds of the big shawl, and slowly but surely the return journey to my own room was accomplished in safety. It was not surprising that the excitement of the last half-hour should have proved a greater strain upon my nerves than I could bear without suffering for it afterwards, whilst I was still so weak; nor that, as a natural consequence, my brain should be in such a state of activity as to banish sleep from my weary eyelids, for a long while after I was snugly ensconced in bed. So, wakeful and restless, I tossed to and fro, this way and that, upon my pillow. By-and-by my mental irritation found a partial relief, as I exclaimed, in a curious mixture of dismay and triumph, "There now!-it is just as I said: the half is over, and I am not a peacemaker at all:-not the least little bit." "Hush! hush! Bernie. Did I not tell you that perhaps you might become one, after all, in a different-and possibly a higher-sense than ever you expected? Perhaps this very night, who can tell ?" added Mrs. Hughes, mysteriously. Then she continued, "But you must try and go to sleep, now, and wake up with all these morbid fancies clean gone out of your brain. You will never get strong and well again, if you keep on worrying yourself so incessantly-and more than you were ever intended to-about such matters as these. So it came to pass that, in less than half an hour, in spite of all my harassing doubts and perplexities, I had sunk into a deep, peaceful slumber. And the waking thoughts still working busily in my brain, it was no great marvel that they should be woven into the same beautiful dream which had made so vivid an impression upon my mind and heart, as I lay basking in the summer sunshine, upon that memorable Sunday, months ago. But this time the angel-guide no longer regarded me with sad, pitying eyes, sorrowing to think that I could not join those happy bands of little ones upon the silvery strand which edged the margin of that lovely lake: nor glide over its placid waters with the groups of children who sat, radiant and smiling, upon the flower-covered decks of their golden gondolas, singing sweet songs as they sailed noiselessly along. For, instead of sorrow or mourning upon her down-turned face, her gentle countenance seemed all aglow with triumphant gladness and delight, as she stooped low to whisper softly in my ear those magic words which formed the burthen of the sweet refrain to the children's praiseful anthem. With a sudden, shuddering start I awoke, and there, one on either side of my narrow bed, their hands joined lovingly across my prostrate body, knelt two familiar forms, in one of whom I recognized my father! At the same moment, I felt a loving arm steal gently round my neck, and in my ear I heard a sweet, low, woman's voice murmuring the very words that had awaked me from my wondrous dream, "Peacemaker at last, Bernard! Peacemaker at last! "Blessed are the peacemakers; for they shall be called the children of God." THE END. GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, ST. JOHN'S SQUARE, LONDON. |