Ella, won't you come and see little Alice once before she dies? You
used to love her, and you would now, if you could see how white and
beautiful she looks. Oh, do come. Mrs. Campbell will let you, I know."

This note, which was blurred and blotted with tears was carried by
Billy, who was going to the village, and delivered to Mrs. Campbell
herself. Perhaps the proud woman remembered the time when her own
darling died, or it may be that conscience upbraided her for caring so
much for one orphan and utterly neglecting the other two. Be that as
it may, her tears fell upon the paper and mingled with Mary's as she
replied, "Ella shall come this afternoon."

But before afternoon a drizzling shower came on, and Mary watched and
wept in vain, for Ella did not come. The next morning was bright and
beautiful as April mornings often are, and at as early an hour as was
consistent with Mrs. Campbell's habits, her carriage was before the
door, and herself and Ella seated within it. The little lady was not
in the best of humors, for she and her maid had quarrelled about her
dress; Ella insisting upon a light-blue merino, and the maid proposing
a plain delaine, which Ella declared she would not wear. Mrs.
Campbell, to whom the matter was referred, decided upon the delaine,
consequently Ella cried and pouted, saying she wouldn't go, wondering
what Alice wanted to be sick for, or any way why they should send for
her.

Meantime in and around the poor-house there was for once perfect
silence. Sal Furbush had been invisible for hours,--the girl with
crooked feet trod softly as she passed up and down the stairs,--Uncle
Peter's fiddle was unstrung, and, securely locked in his fiddle box,
was stowed away at the bottom of his old red chest,--and twice that