have been exciting my little
girl's imagination in a dangerous manner, by relating tales of dreadful
import. I know you have done it in kindness," added she, fearful of
giving pain, "but Helen is different from other children, and cannot
bear the least excitement."

"She's always asking me to tell her stories," answered Miss Thusa, "and
I love the dear child too well to deny her. There is something very
uncommon about her. I never saw a child that would set and listen to old
people as she will. I never did think she would live to grow up; she
wasn't well last night, or she wouldn't have been scared; I noticed that
one cheek was red as a cherry, and the other as white as snow--a sign
the fever was in her blood."

Miss Thusa, like many other metaphysicians, mistook the effect for the
cause, and thus stilled, with unconscious sophistry, the upbraidings of
her conscience.

Helen here tossed upon her feverish couch, and opening her eyes, looked
wildly towards the chimney.

"Hark! Miss Thusa," she exclaimed, "it's coming. Don't you hear it
clattering down the chimney? Don't leave me--don't leave me in the
dark--I'm afraid--I'm afraid."

It was well for Miss Thusa that Mr. Gleason was not present, to hear the
ravings of his child, or his doors would hereafter have been barred
against her. Mrs. Gleason, while she mourned over the consequences of
her admission, would as soon have cut off her own right hand as she
would have spoken harshly or unkindly to the poor, lone woman. She
warned her, however, from feeding, in this insane manner, the morbid
imagination of her child, and gently forbid her ever repeating _that
awful story_, which had made, apparently, so dark and deep an
impression.

"Above all things, my dear Miss Thusa," said she, repressing a little
dry, hacking cough, that often interrupted her speech--"never give her
any horrible idea of death. I know that such impressions can never be
effaced--I know it by my own experience. The grave has ever been to me a
gloomy subject of contemplation, though I gaze upon it with the lamp of
faith in my hand, and the remembrance that the Son of God made His bed
in its darkness, that light might be left there for me and mine."

Miss Thusa looked at Mrs. Gleason as she uttered these sentiments, and
the glance of her solemn eye grew earnest as she gazed. Such was the
usual quietness and reserve of the speaker, she was not prepared for so
much depth of thought and feeling. As s