Summer passed with its weary watching, and her disease assumed a more
deffinite appearance, and the mother felt that Mary must die.

'Twas early autumn; the mother purchased some flannel and prepared a
robe for her darling, with a mother's pride, believing that that would
be beneficial to her. It was late in the evening when the task was
completed, and a neat white apron was hung upon the nail over it, and
the impatient mother waited the approach of day that she might place
it upon her little form. O how strongly did the bright red robe
contrast with the lily whiteness of that lovely babe. The tiny hands,
as they peeped from beneath their long sleeves, looked like two white
lilies intermingled with the thick clustering blossoms of the running
rose. The mother looked upon her with pleasure as she saw her so
comfortably clad, and hoped the increased warmth would improve her
health, but when she bore her to her father, saying, "here is our
doll;" he turned away his dewy eyes, for he saw that she was fading
away from earth.

"O Albert," said Carrie, "does she not look now as though she might
live?"

He could not bear to crush the last hope in the heart of his young
wife, and remained silent.

She continued,

"No one gives me any encouragement, but I do feel more hopeful about
her this morning, for she rested better through the night than she has
done for several nights."