tate of almost perfect exhaustion, Mrs. Howard
lay gasping for breath while Mary, as if conscious of the dread
reality about to occur, knelt by her side, occasionally caressing her
pale cheek and asking if she were better. Once Mrs. Howard laid her
hands on Mary's head, and prayed that she might be preserved and kept
from harm by the God of the orphan, and that the sin of disobedience
resting upon her own head might not be visited upon her child.
After a time a troubled sleep came upon her, and she slept, until
roused by a low sob. Raising herself up, she looked anxiously towards
her children. The moonbeams fell full upon the white, placid face of
Frank, who seemed calmly sleeping, while over him Mary bent, pushing
back from his forehead the thick, clustering curls, and striving hard
to smother her sobs, so they might not disturb her mother.
"Does he sleep?" asked Mrs. Howard, and Mary, covering with her hands
the face of him who slept, answered, "Turn away, mother;--don't look
at him. Franky is dead. He died with his arms around my neck, and told
me not to wake you."
Mrs. Howard was in the last stages of consumption, and now after
weeping over her only boy until her tears seemed dried, she lay back
half fainting upon her pillow. Towards daylight a violent coughing fit
ensued, during which an ulcer was broken, and she knew that she was
dying. Beckoning Mary to her side, she whispered, "I am leaving you
alone, in the wide world. Be kind to Ella, and our dear little Allie,
and go with her where she goes. May God keep and bless my precious
children,--and reward you as you deserve, my darling--"
The sentence was unfinished, and in unspeakable awe the orphan girl
knelt between her mother and brother, shuddering in the presence of
death, and then weeping to think she was alone.
CHAPTER III.
BILLY BENDER.
Just on the corner of Chicopee Common, and under the shadow of the
century-old elms which skirt the borders of the grass plat called by
the villagers the "Mall," stands the small red cottage of widow
Bender, who in her way was quite a curiosity. All the "ills which
flesh is heir to," seemed by some strange fatality to fall upon her,
and never did a new disease appear in any quarter of the globe, which
widow Bender, if by any means she could ascertain the symptoms, was
not sure to have it in its most aggravated form.
On the morning following the events narrated in the last chapter,
Billy, whose dreams
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