to put myself above the Prayer Book, but one must be honest, and that's
how I felt in my heart. I've no claim upon any one, and a long,
expensive illness is a great drag. I'd be so ashamed! `Our times are
in His hand,' my dear; but if it's not presumptuous, I hope He'll take
me soon. Next summer, perhaps, before the boys want to come down for
the holidays. I should like to have the winter just to be quiet and
prepare. June, now! June would be a sweet month to pass away in.
Would it not, my dear?"

"Miggles!" cried Vanna, half laughing, half in tears. "Miggles, how can
you be so callous? I absolutely refuse to discuss the date of your
death. It's not a cheerful subject for us, whatever it may be for you;
and I hope you'll be spared for a long, long rest after your busy life.
How can you talk about dying in that matter-of-fact way, as if it were a
removal from one house to another? Have you no dread, not of the mere
act of death--that is often a real `falling asleep,' but of the leap in
the dark, the unknown change, the mystery behind?"

Miggles lay back against her pillow, a large, unwieldy figure, with thin
bands of hair brushed back beneath an old-fashioned night-cap, her hands
clasped peacefully on her knee.

"No, my dear," she said tranquilly; "the mystery doesn't trouble me.
I'm a poor, weak creature, and I was never clever at understanding. I
only know that it's going to be a change for the better, so of course
I'm ready to go. When I hear people talk of shrinking and trembling at
the thought of death, I think they can't really believe what they
profess, or why should they prefer to live on, lonely, and suffering,
and poor, rather than make a little journey to gain peace and rest?
It's not reason, my dear, it's not reason."

Miggles was silent, blinking her little eyes, and panting after the
exertion of talking. Gradually a pucker gathered on her forehead, and
an expression of anxiety spread over her face.

"There is only one thing that troubles me--only one thing; but it's very
serious. I can't"--she turned solemn, innocent eyes upon the girl's
face--"I can't feel myself a sinner! That's a great secret, my dear,
but you've been so kind to me this last week that I feel I can make the
confidence. Of course I should not wish it repeated. No! isn't it sad?
I've tried my best, but I can't do it. It seems to me that I have done
my best. I was a good daughter. My dear mother died blessing my na