fter him, as if he had left her and was
going away.

"You'll not forget your promise, will you, father?" she says, speaking
so calmly, that he thinks her mind has ceased to wander.

"No, dear; I will not forget it," he answers, smoothing her hair gently
with his hand.

"You'll not go out in the evening again, until I get well?"

"No, dear."

"Father!"

"What, love?"

"Stoop down closer; I don't want mother to hear; it will make her feel
so bad."

The father bends his ear close to the lips of Mary. How he starts and
shudders! What has she said?--only these brief words:

"I shall not get well, father; I'm going to die."

The groans, impossible to repress, that issued through the lips of Joe
Morgan, startled the ears of his wife, and she came quickly to the
bedside.

"What is it? What is the matter, Joe?" she inquired, with a look of
anxiety.

"Hush, father. Don't tell her. I only said it to you." And Mary put a
finger on her lips, and looked mysterious. "There, mother--you go away;
you've got trouble enough, any how. Don't tell her, father."

But the words, which came to him like a prophecy, awoke such pangs of
fear and remorse in the heart of Joe Morgan, that it was impossible for
him to repress the signs of pain. For some moments he gazed at his
wife--then stooping forward, suddenly, he buried his face in the
bed-clothes, and sobbed bitterly.

A suggestion of the truth now flashed through the mind of Mrs. Morgan,
sending a thrill of pain along every nerve. Ere she had time to recover
herself, the low, sweet voice of Mary broke upon the hushed air of the
room, and she sung:

"Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are,
While on His breast I lean my head,
And breathe my life out, sweetly, there."

It was impossible for Mrs. Morgan longer to repress her feelings. As
the softly breathed strain died away, her sobs broke forth, and for a
time she wept violently.

"There," said the child,--"I didn't mean to tell you. I only told
father, because--because he promised not to go to the tavern any more
until I got well; and I'm not going to get well. So, you see, mother,
he'll never go again--never--never--never. Oh, dear! how my head pains.
Mr. Slade threw it so hard. But it didn't strike father; and I'm so
glad. How it would have hurt him--poor father! But he'll never go there
any more; and that will be so good, won't it, mother?"

A light broke over her face; but seei