When she saw his swollen eyes and
flushed face, she wished that she had not intruded, but she went frankly
up to him, and began talking as indifferently as possible, to give him
time to recover himself, said how very cold it was, stirred the fire
into a cheerful blaze, and then relapsed into silence. The silence was
broken at times by heavy sighs, however--they were from poor Joe. Emilie
now went to the piano, and in her clear voice sang softly that beautiful
anthem, "I will arise and go to my Father." It was not the first time
that Joe had shown something like emotion at the sound of music; now it
softened and composed him. "I should like to hear that again," he said,
in a voice so unlike his own that Emilie was surprised.
She sang it and some others that she thought he would like, and then
said, "I hope I have not tired you, but I am afraid you are in pain."
"I am," said Joe, in his old gruff uncivil voice, "in great pain."
"Can I do any thing for you?" asked Emilie, modestly.
"No _nothing_, nothing can be done! I shall have to lie on my back as
long as I live, and never walk or stand or do any thing like other
boys--but I hope I shan't live long, that's all.
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