"And yet they all say she was not kind enough," said little
Connie,--"what do they mean by that? for you seem to love her very much
still, though she is dead. Can one go on loving people when they are
dead?"

"Oh yes, and better than ever," said Mary; "for often you do not know how
you loved them, or what they were to you, till they are gone away."

Connie gave her governess a hug and said, "Why did not she leave you all
her money, Miss Vivian? everybody says she was wicked and unkind to die
without--"

"My dear," cried Mary, "do not repeat what ignorant people say, because
it is not true."

"But mamma said it, Miss Vivian."

"She does not know, Connie,--you must not say it. I will tell your mamma
she must not say it; for nobody can know so well as I do,--and it is not
true--"

"But they say," cried Connie, "that that is why she can't rest in her
grave. You must have heard. Poor old lady, they say she cannot rest in
her grave, because--"

Mary seized the child in her arms with a pressure that hurt Connie. "You
must not! You must not!" she cried, in a sort of panic. Was she afraid
that some one might hear? She gave Connie a hurried kiss, and turned her
face away, looking out into the vacant room. "It is not true! it is not
true!" she cried, with a great excitement and horror, as if to stay a