the thin counterpane, lay
a broken comb and brush. Over her fingers, distorted by hard work, but
pale from sickness and languid with coming death, the mother twisted
the locks, vigorously waving, richly gilded, and dragged them in
shining, curled lengths over the child's shoulders.

Because of the extreme weakness of the hands the process was a
laborious one. A heavier pallor was upon the face, a cold moisture upon
the sunken brow when it was accomplished.

"I'll kape on while I kin--I don' know as I shall ha' the strength much
longer, Dora."

The child twitched her curls from the fingers that lay heavily upon
them and turned on her mother fiercely. "Yu ha' got ter du 'em, then!"
she cried. She glared upon the faint head slipped sideways on the
pillow. "Yu ha'n't got ter put none o' them parts on, du I'll let ye
ter know."

Her eyes were suddenly wide and brilliant with tears; the fading sight
of the mother was dazzled by the yellow shine of them and of the
richly-coloured hair. "My pretty gal!" she breathed; "my pretty Dora! I
ha'n't got no strength, bor."

"I'll let yer ter know!" Dora cried with fury. "I'll hull yer pillars
away, and let yer hid go flop, if ye say yer ha'an't got no strength.
I'll let yer ter know!"

She stopped, because the sobs which had been stormily rising choked
her. She seized in her red little hands the pillow beneath her mother's
head. No word of remonstrance was spoken, the faded eyes gazing wearily
upon the child held no reproof.

"What d'ye look at me, that mander, for? Why don't ye ketch me a lump
o' the hid?" the child cried fiercely; then gave way to the suppressed
sobbing. "Oh, mother, yu ain't a-dyin'? Yu ain't a-dyin' yit?"

She flung her own head on the soiled pillow; all the crisply waving,
long ringlets flew over the mother's sunken chest; one fell across her
parched lips. She moistened them with her tongue, and made a feeble
motion of kissing. A tear slid slowly down her cheek.

"Not yit, my pretty gal," she whispered. "Mother ain't a-goin' ter lave
yer yit."

"Promus! Yer ain't a-tellin' no lies? Yer'll stop along of me till I
kin carl my ringolets myself. I ha' got ter have 'em carled, and there
ain't no one else to du 'em for me."

The mother promised.

"There's Jim and Jack--they don't want ye, mother. Their hairs is
short. They kin play hopstick i' th' midder, alonger th' other boys.
Both on 'em kin put their own collars on. There's on'y me, what have
carls