few smart drops
that seemed to hint business. There was a constant putting up of
umbrellas and putting them down again. There was a constant fidgeting
about, and getting up and sitting down again, to let some of the more
nervous ones who had resolved upon a decided rain escape to safer
quarters. Half of the people had their heads twisted around to get a
peep at the sky, to see what the clouds really _did_ mean, anyway.

Our girls had one of the uncomfortable posts. Arrived late, they had to
take what they could get, and it was some distance from the speaker, and
their sight and sound were so marred by the constant changes and the
whirl of umbrellas that Marion presently lost all patience and gave up
the attempt to listen. She would have deserted altogether but for the
look of eager attention on Flossy's face. Despite the annoyances, _she_
was evidently hearing and enjoying. It seemed a pity to disturb her and
suggest a return to the tent; besides, Marion felt half ashamed to do
so.

It was not pleasant to give tacit acknowledgment to the fact that poor
little, unintellectual Flossy was much more interested than herself. She
gave herself up to an old and favorite employment of hers, that of
looking at faces and studying them, when a sudden hush that seemed to be
settling over the hither to fidgety audience arrested her attention.

The speaker's voice was full of pathos, and so quiet had the place
become that every word of his could be distinctly heard. He was
evidently in the midst of a story, the first of which she had not heard.
This was the sentence, as her ears took it up:

"Don't cry, father, don't cry! To-night I shall be with Jesus, and I
will tell him that you did all you could to bring me there!"

What a tribute for a child to give to a father's love! Flossy, with her
cheeks glowing and her eyes shining like stars, quietly wiped away the
tears, and in her heart the resolve grew strong to live so that some
one, dying, could say of her: "I will tell Jesus that you did all you
could to bring me there!"

Do you think that was what the sentence said to Marion? Quick as thought
her life flashed back to that old dingy, weather-beaten house, to that
pale-faced man, with his patched clothing and his gray hairs straggling
over on the coarse pillow. _Her_ father, dying--her one friend, who had
been her memory of love and care all these long years, dying--and these
were the last words his lips had said:

"Don't cry,