olved never to part with it as long as
she lived.

"Hope and have, Fanny," said Jenny, when she had rested for a time.
"Hope for what is good and true, and you shall have it; for if you
really desire it, you will be sure to labor and to struggle for it."

"Hope and have," repeated Fanny. "Your anchor shall mean this to me.
Jenny, I feel happier already, for I really and truly mean to be good.
But I think I ought to tell you how wicked I am."

"No, don't tell me; tell your mother."

"I have no mother."

"Then you are poorer than I am."

"And no father."

"Poor Fanny! Then you have had no one to tell you how to be good."

"Yes, I have the kindest and best of friends; but I have been very
ungrateful."

"They will forgive you, for you are truly sorry."

"Perhaps they will."

"I know they will."

Jenny was weary again, and Fanny sang in her softest and sweetest tones
once more. It was now the twilight of a long summer day, and Mrs. Kent,
having finished her household duties, came into the room. Soon after,
the sufferer was seized with a violent fit of coughing, which seemed to
weaken and reduce her beyond the possibility of recovery. When it left
her, she could not speak aloud.

"I am going, mother," said she, a little later. "Fanny!"

"I am here," replied Fanny, almost choked with emotion.

"We shall meet in heaven," said the dying one. "Have you been very
naughty?"

"I have," sobbed Fanny.

Jenny asked for paper and pencil, and when her mother had raised her on
the bed, she wrote, with trembling hand, these words:--

"_Please to forgive Fanny, for the sake of her dying friend,
Jenny Kent._"

"Take this, Fanny: God will forgive you."

It was evident to the experienced eye of Mrs. Kent that Jenny was going
from earth. The sufferer lay with her gaze fixed upon the ceiling, and
her hands clasped, as in silent prayer. She seemed to be communing with
the angels. She struggled for breath, and her mother watched her in the
most painful anxiety.

"Good by, mother," said she, at last. "Good by, Eddy: I'm going home."

Mrs. Kent took her offered hand, and kissed her, struggling all the
time to be calm. Little Eddy was raised up to the bed, and kissed his
departing sister.

"Fanny," gasped she, extending her trembling hand.

Fanny took the hand.

"Good by."

"Good by, Jenny," she answered, awed and trembling with agitation at
the impressive scene.

The dying girl closed her eyes. But a mom