"Rosa dear, my breath is growing very short, but I must tell you
something. You are too young to know what it all means now, but try to
remember, and sometime you will understand.

"Just ten years ago today I was married to your father, Harold Browning;
and you are so like him, precious.

"I was left an orphan at the age of fourteen, and from that time till
the day of marriage, made my living by clerking in a down-town store.
Your father, too, was alone in the world, and how we loved each other!

"We rented a small furnished flat, which to me was a paradise. Your
father was a bookkeeper on a comfortable salary, and for a time all went
well. At the end of the second year you were born, and then our joy knew
no bounds. Every evening while holding you in his arms, we would plan
for the future, you being the center of everything. There was not a
shadow over our lives, till one morning he was not able to go to work.
In a few hours he became so very ill that in great alarm I summoned the
doctor. Then followed weeks of suspense, the days being divided between
hope and fear, till at last all thought of his recovery was given up. My
anguish was too deep for tears. I went around as one stunned, not
knowing at times what I was about. Your dear father tried to comfort me,
pointing me to Jesus whom he loved intensely, but who I said was cruel
to allow our little home nest thus ruthlessly to be broken up.

"What happened the last days of his life to me is a blank, for I myself
was very ill. When I recovered and paid all the bills, there was not one
cent left for us. I could hold the flat no longer, so moved here on
Burton street, making our living, as you know, darling, by the day's