away
that made me a home, and I don't keer for nothing now."

"You mustn't be down-hearted, Hasty," she said, "but look right up to de
Lord. He says, Call on me in de day of trouble, and I will, hear ye; and
cast your burden on me, and I will care for ye. And sure enough dis is
your time ob trouble, poor crittur."

"Yes," she answered, "and it has been my time of trouble ever since Mark
was sold, and I has prayed to de Lord, time after time, to raise up
friends to save Mark from going; but ye see how it is, Sally."

"Yes, I sees, Hasty, but ye mustn't let it shake your faith a bit, kase
de Lord will bring it all right in his time."

Thus talking, and endeavoring to console her, Sally accompanied Hasty to
her now desolate home. As she entered the room, the low moan of her
child fell upon her ear, and awoke her to the necessity of action. It
was well that there existed an immediate call on her, or her heart would
have sunk under the heavy burden of sorrow. She went hastily to the side
of the little sufferer, and passing her cold hand over the burning
forehead of her child, whispered soothing words of endearment.

"Is father come?" asked Fanny. "Ise been dreamin', and I thought for
sure he was here. 'Aint this his night to come home, mother?"

"No, honey, dis is Friday night," answered Hasty. "But never mind about
father now, but go to sleep, there's a good girl."

And sitting down by the side of her child, Hasty, with a mother's
tenderness, soothed her to sleep. All that long night she sat, but no
sleep shed a calm upon her heart; but when morning came exhausted nature
could bear up no longer, and she sank into a short but troubled slumber.

By the sick bed of her child,
In her cabin lone and drear.
Listening to its ravings wild,
Dropping on it many a tear,
Sat the mother, broken-hearted;
Every hope was in its shroud.
From her husband she'd been parted,
And to earth with grief she's bow'd.
Now within her ear is ringing
Drearily hope's funeral knell,
And the night wind wild is singing
Mournfully, the word _farewell_.

Day broke, and still mother and child slept on. Hasty's over-charged
heart and brain were for the first time, for some days, lulled to
forgetfulness. If this relief had not come, without doubt one would have
broken, and the other been lost in madness. Fanny was the first to
awake. The crisis of the disease had passed; the fever no long