who goes there gets well right away, and, oh sir, I wants to take Jessie there just as soon as I can.  I takes her a flower every night, and then I just sits and looks at her face, until my heart gets warmer and warmer, and do yer think I could come out of such a place and then swear and drink, and chew tobacco, and pitch pennies, and tell lies?  I tells Jessie how the boys calls me ‘His Royal Highness,’ and she tells me I musn’t mind it, and I musn’t get mad, but just attend to my work.  And—­and—­and, oh sir, I wanted to tell somebody all this, for I always tries to look bright when I goes in to see Jessie, and not let her know I am fretting about anything; but I does want to take Jessie to the land where flowers always bloom and people are always well.  That’s so little for me to do after all the good that’s come to me from knowing Jessie.  But, I begs yer pardon for keeping yer so long, and I thanks yer for letting me tell yer about Jessie.”

Ah, the boys named him better than they knew, for here was a prince in truth, and despite his rags “His Royal Highness” was a more befitting name than Joe.

“Where does Jessie live, my boy?”

“Oh, sir, yer isn’t going to take Jessie to that land of pure delight, and spoil all my pleasure.  I does want to do it myself.  Yer won’t be so mean as that, after listening to what I’ve been telling yer, will yer?”

“Not I, my boy, not I. Just let me go and see Jessie and her mother, and whatever I can do for them, I’ll do it through you.”

A little persuasion, and then “His Royal Highness” and I made our way to the tenement and began climbing the stairs.  We had gone up five flights and were mounting the sixth, when the boy stopped suddenly and motioned for me to listen.  The voice of a woman reached my ear—­a voice with deep grief in every tone—­saying, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble.”  A pause—­then a sob—­and the voice wailing rather than singing: 

  Other refuge have I none,
    Hangs my helpless soul on Thee;
  Leave, oh, leave me not alone,
    Still support and comfort me. 
  All my trust on Thee is stayed,
    All my help from Thee I bring,
  Cover my defenceless head,
    With the shadow of Thy wing.

The boy grasped my hand a moment—­gasped out “That’s Jessie’s mother, something’s happened”—­and then bounded up the stairs and into the room.  I followed him and found sure enough something had happened, for Jessie had gone to the land of pure delight, and the mother stood weeping beside her dead.  On the face of Jessie lingered a smile, for she was well at last.  In her hand was a pure white rosebud, the last flower Joe had carried to her the evening before.  Her last message to him was that she had gone to the land of pure delight, and for him to be sure and follow her there.

I draw the curtain over the boy’s grief.  His savings bought the coffin in which Jessie was laid under the green sod.  Where “His Royal Highness” is, must for the present remain a secret between Joe and myself.  His face and his feet are turned toward the land of pure delight.  His heart is there already.  You have his story, and it may help you to remember that some paupers wear fine linen and broadcloth, while here and there a prince is to be found clothed in rags.