a stranger, who
gave up all his time and energy to endeavoring to trace the wanderers.
He was Nell's grandfather's younger brother, who had for many years been
a traveller in distant lands, with almost no information of his brother.
His thoughts began to revert constantly to the days when they were boys
together, and obeying the impulse which impelled him, he hastened home,
arriving one evening at his brother's door, only to find the
wanderers gone.

By dint of ceaseless watchfulness and vigilance, at last he gained a
clue to their retreat, and lost no time in following it up, taking with
him Kit Nubbles, the errand-boy at the Shop in old days, who, though
now in the employ of kind Mr. Garland, was still loyal to the memory of
his beloved Miss Nelly--and only too grateful to be allowed to go in
search of her, with the stranger whom she would not recognize. So
together they journeyed to the peaceful village, where Nell and her
grandfather were hidden, Kit carrying with him Nell's bird in his own
cage. She would be glad to see it, he knew, but alas for Kit--they found
sweet Nell in the sleep that knows no waking on this our earth.

There, upon her little bed, she lay at rest. The solemn stillness was no
marvel now.

She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of
pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of
God, and waiting for the breath of life; not one who had lived and
suffered death.

Her couch was dressed with here and there some winter berries and green
leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used to favor. "When I die, put
near me something that has loved the light, and had the sky above it
always." Those were her words.

She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little
bird--a poor slight thing the pressure of a finger would have
crushed--was stirring nimbly in its cage; and the strong heart of its
child-mistress was mute and motionless forever.

Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings, and fatigues?
All gone. Sorrow was dead indeed in her, but peace and perfect happiness
were born--imaged in her tranquil beauty and profound repose.

And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change. Yes. The
old fireside had smiled upon that same sweet face; it had passed, like a
dream, through haunts of misery and care; at the door of the poor
schoolmaster on the summer evening, before the furnace fire upon the
cold wet ni