vent.

"So," said the boatman, putting on his hat, "now I will row you
across."

But Roland, unwilling to surprise his sister before she had had time to
rest and compose herself, asked to be allowed to remain a while longer
on the shore. It was well he did, for no one in the convent so felt a
part of her very self taken from her, as Manna. Dear little Heimchen
had held out for a whole year, seeming to grow more cheerful, and
making good progress in her studies, but in the Spring she faded, like
a tenderly nurtured flower too early exposed to the cold.

Devotedly, day and night. Manna nursed the child, who with her was
always happy. A foretaste of heaven seemed granted little Heimchen; she
looked forward to it as to a Christmas holiday, and often said to Manna
that she should tell God, and all the angels in heaven, about her. The
next moment she would beg Manna to tell her about Roland.

"I saw him running with his bow and arrows, and oh, he was so
beautiful!"

Then Manna told about Roland, and could always make Heimchen laugh by
describing how his little pups tumbled one another over and over. The
physician, and the hospital nun, who was almost a doctor herself, urged
Manna to take more rest, but she was strong, and never left her post.
In Manna's arms the child died, and her last words were:--

"Good-morning, Manna, it is no longer night now."

Manna's experience had been manifold. She had seen a novice assume the
dress of the order, and had seen a fellow pupil enter her novitiate;
yet was it all only a strong, free, joyful self-sacrifice. Now she had
witnessed the death of a child, a little human being, dropping softly
and silently from the tree of life, as a blossom falls from the stem.

It was Manna who, at the lower end of the bier, had helped to bear the
child to the grave, and thrown three handfuls of earth upon the coffin.
She did not shed a tear until the priest described how the child had
been called from the earth, as a father might summon his child from a
play-ground where it was in danger, and keep it safe in his home; then
she wept bitterly.

On leaving the cemetery, she went once more to Heimchen's empty bed,
and there prayed God that she might enter into eternity as pure as that
little child. Then she grew composed, feeling the time could not be far
distant when, after a short return to the excitement of the world, the
great Father of all would summon her away from this play-ground into
his sh