"My dearest little Laura," he said, "two angels have been with us during
the night--the angel of life and the angel of death. You have had a
little brother, but he only lived one hour. Now he is dead, and mamma is
very dangerously ill. Tho doctors say that unless she has most perfect
rest she will not get better--there must not be a sound in the house."

A little brother! At first my child's mind was so filled with wonder I
could not realize what it meant. How often I had longed for brothers and
sisters! Now I had had one, and he was dead before I could see him.

"I should like to see my little brother, papa--if I may," I said.

He paused thoughtfully for a few minutes, then answered:

"I am quite sure you may, Laura; I will take you."

We went, without making even the faintest sound, to the pretty rooms
that had been set aside as nurseries. One of them had been beautifully
decorated with white lace and flowers. There in the midst stood the
berceaunette in which I had lain when I was a child.

My father took me up to it--at first I saw only the flowers, pale
snowdrops and blue violets with green leaves; then I saw a sweet waxen
face with closed eyes and lips.

Oh! baby brother, how often I have longed to be at rest with you! I was
not frightened; the beautiful, tiny face, now still in death, had no
horrors for me.

"May I kiss him, papa?" I asked. Oh, baby brother, why not have stayed