"O mamma, you may have all my clothes next summer."

"Why, Emma," replied her mother, "you will want them yourself."

"O no, mamma, I shall not want them; you may have my little brella,
and all."

The mother's cheek blanched, and a fearful pang again shot through her
heart.

"O Emma, don't talk so, you will wear them all yourself."

"O no, mamma, you may have them;" and seating herself in her little
chair, she sat long, looking thoughtful and serious.

It was morning, bright beautiful morning. The swelling buds had burst
their confines, and the apple, pear, peach, cherry, and plum trees
that surrounded the house, were thickly covered with sweet scented,
many colored blossoms, that gave promise of a rich harvest of
delicious fruit. The birds warbled their matin songs in sweet melody;
the honey bees with drowsy hum, were sipping sweets to horde their
winter's store; and every thing seemed rejoicing in the light of that
glad morning. Even Crib, the great house dog, lay sunning himself on
the door step with a satisfied look, snapping at the flies that buzzed
around him.

But Emma could not arise to look out upon the joyful face of nature.
She lay pale and languid upon the bed, telling her mother she was too
sick to get up, that she could stay alone while she ironed her clothes