e a required promise.

The child had not seen her mother since the previous day, and the altered
face upon the pillow was so strange to her, that she half turned away, as
though to hide her face upon her father's shoulder.

The gleaming eyes of the dying mother were turned wistfully towards her
child.

"See, poppet; look at mammy!" urged the father, turning the little face
towards the bed.

"Mother's darling!"

There was less change in the mother's voice than in her face; and the next
moment the little dark head lay on the pillow, and the tiny, nut-brown
hand was stroking the hollow cheek of the dying woman.

"'oo is my mammy, isn't 'oo?"

"Yes, darling; kiss mammy good-bye," was the heart-breaking answer.

"Me tiss 'oo," said the child, suiting the action to the word; "but not
dood-bye. Me see 'oo aden. Mammy, se shops is so bootiful! Will 'oo take
Ma-an to see dem? 'nother day, yes 'nother day."

"Daddy will take Marian to see the shops," said the dying mother, in
labouring tones. "Mammy going to Jesus. Jesus will take care of mother's
little lamb."

The mother's lips were pressed in a last lingering kiss upon the face of
her child, and then Marian was carried downstairs.

When the child was gone, "Cobbler" Horn sat down by the bedside, and took
and held the wasted hand of his wife. It was evident that the end was
coming fast; and urgent indeed must be the summons which would draw him
now from the side of his dying wife. Hour after hour he sat waiting for
the great change. As the night crept on, he watched the deepening shadow
on the beloved face, and marked the gathering signs which heralded the
brief triumph of the king of terrors. There was but little talk. It could
not be otherwise; for, every moment, utterance became more difficult to
the dying wife. A simple, and affectionate question and answer passed now
and then between the two. At infrequent intervals expressions of spiritual
confidence were uttered by the dying wife; and these were varied with a
few calmly-spoken directions about the child. From the husband came, now
and then, words of tender encouragement, mingled with morsels of
consolation from the good old Book, with, ever and anon, a whispered
prayer.

The night had almost passed when the end came. The light of the grey
December dawn was struggling feebly through the lattice, when the young
wife and mother, whose days had been so few, died, with a smile upon her
face; and "Cobbler" Horn