mother, long as she wants her. 'Tis what I wish I had kept sense
enough to do; life hasn't been all play to me;" and the tears began to
roll quickly down the poor creature's thin cheeks. "The only thing I
care about is leaving the baby well placed, and I want her to have a
good chance to grow up a useful woman. And most of all to keep her out
of _their_ hands, I mean her father's folks. I hate 'em, and he cared
more for 'em than he did for me, long at the last of it.... I could
tell you stories!"--

"But not to-night, Addy," said the doctor gravely, as if he were
speaking to a child. "We must put you to bed and to sleep, and you can
talk about all these troublesome things in the morning. You shall see
about the papers too, if you think best. Be a good girl now, and let
your mother help you to bed." For the resolute spirit had summoned the
few poor fragments of vitality that were left, and the sick woman was
growing more and more excited. "You may have all the pillows you wish
for, and sit up in bed if you like, but you mustn't stay here any
longer," and he gathered her in his arms and quickly carried her to
the next room. She made no resistance, and took the medicine which
Mrs. Martin brought, without a word. There was a blazing fire now in
the bedroom fire-place, and, as she lay still, her face took on a
satisfied, rested look. Her mother sat beside her, tearful, and yet
contented and glad to have her near, and the others whispered together
in the kitchen. It might have been the last night of a long illness
instead of the sudden, startling entrance of sorrow in human shape.
"No," said the doctor, "she cannot last much longer with such a cough
as that, Mrs. Dyer. She has almost reached the end of it. I only hope
that she will go quickly."

And sure enough; whether the fatal illness had run its natural course,