ave me something to
bear. I used to be glad every night when I prayed; it was something to
do for you, and something to bear for His sake." And Hatty dropped her
voice reverently, for she was speaking of the Lord Jesus.

"Yes, darling, I see what you mean."

"I am glad that it has not been too easy, and that I have really tried
for once not to be selfish. I don't want to get well, Bessie. I should
have all the old, miserable feelings over again. I have been 'Little
Miss Much-Afraid' all my life, and the fears have been a part of me. Do
you recollect what Bunyan said about Much-Afraid? 'She went through the
river singing;' that was because she had left all her fears and troubles
on the bank."

"And you are not afraid to die, Hatty?"

"No, not really afraid. Sometimes in the night, when I lie awake with
that strange oppression, I think how strange it will be without you all,
and to have only the angels to talk to me. But I suppose I shall get
used to it. I always say that psalm over to myself, and then the queer
feeling leaves me. Don't you know? 'He shall give His angels charge over
thee. They shall bear thee up in their hands.' That verse gives one such
a restful feeling; just as though one were a little child again."

"Dear Hatty, you will be in that city where 'the inhabitants shall not
say, I am sick, and they that dwell therein shall be forgiven their
iniquity.' You will be where Jesus is.

'Peace, perfect peace with loved ones far away!
In Jesus' keeping we are safe--and they.'

It does me good to hear you; but you must not talk any more, your voice
is so weak. Let me repeat one of your favorite hymns, and then perhaps
you will get drowsy." And then Hatty consented to be silent.

After all, the end came very suddenly, just when it was least expected.
Hatty had seemed better that day; there was a strange flicker of life
and energy; she had talked much to her mother and Bessie, and had sent a
loving, playful message to Tom, who was away from home.

It had been her father's custom to take the early part of the
night-watch, and then to summon one of the others to relieve him. He had
persisted in this, in spite of long, laborious days. Hatty was very dear
to her father's heart, and he loved those quiet hours beside her. Bessie
had retired to bed early, as it was her turn to be roused, but long
before the usual hour her mother was beside her.

"Come, my child, come; do not wait to dress, Hatty is goin