ight when he wakened with
a cold touch on his hand.

"It's come, father!"

He started up with a cry, looking at the new smile in her eyes, grown
strangely still.

"Call them all, quick, father!"

Whatever was the mystery of death that met her now, her heart clung to
the old love that had been true to her so long.

He did not move.

"Let me hev yoh to myself, Lo, 't th' last; yoh're all I hev; let me
hev yoh 't th' last."

It was a bitter disappointment, but she roused herself even then to
smile, and tell him yes, cheerfully. You call it a trifle, nothing? It
may be; yet I think the angels looking down had tears in their eyes,
when they saw the last trial of the unselfish, solitary heart, and kept
for her a different crown from his who conquers a city.

The fire-light grew warmer and redder; her eyes followed it, as if all
that had been bright and kindly in her life were coming back in it.
She put her hand on her father, trying vainly to smooth his gray hair.
The old man's heart smote him for something, for his sobs grew louder,
and he left her a moment; then she saw them all, faces very dear to her
even then. She laughed and nodded to them all in the old childish way;
then her lips moved. "It's come right!" she tried to say; but the weak
voice would never speak again on earth.

"It's the turn o' the night," said Mrs. Polston, solemnly; "lift her
head; the Old Year's 'goin' out."

Margret lifted her head, and held it on her breast. She could hear
cries and sobs; the faces, white now, and wet, pressed nearer, yet
fading slowly: it was the Old Year going out, the worn-out year of her
life. Holmes opened the window: the cold night-wind rushed in, bearing
with it snatches of broken harmony: some idle musician down in the
city, playing fragments of some old, sweet air, heavy with love and
regret. It may have been chance: yet, let us think it was not chance;
let us believe that He, who had made the world warm and happy for her,
chose that this best voice of all should bid her good-bye at the last.

So the Old Year went out in that music. The dull eyes, loving to the
end, wandered vaguely as the sounds died away, as if losing
something,--losing all, suddenly. She sighed as the clock struck, and
then a strange calm, unknown before, stole over her face; her eyes
flashed open with a living joy. Margret stooped to close them, kissing
the cold lids; and Tiger, who had climbed upon the bed, whined and
crept d