She began to cry a low, feeble cry, and covered up her face that
Susan might not see her. That dear face! those precious moments
while yet the eyes could look out with love and intelligence. Susan
laid her head down close by her mother's ear.

"Mother I'll take tent of Will. Mother, do you hear? He shall not
want ought I can give or get for him, least of all the kind words
which you had ever ready for us both. Bless you! bless you! my own
mother."

"Thou'lt promise me that, Susan, wilt thou? I can die easy if
thou'lt take charge of him. But he's hardly like other folk; he
tries father at times, though I think father'll be tender of him when
I'm gone, for my sake. And, Susan, there's one thing more. I never
spoke on it for fear of the bairn being called a tell-tale, but I
just comforted him up. He vexes Michael at times, and Michael has
struck him before now. I did not want to make a stir; but he's not
strong, and a word from thee, Susan, will go a long way with
Michael."

Susan was as red now as she had been pale before; it was the first
time that her influence over Michael had been openly acknowledged by
a third person, and a flash of joy came athwart the solemn sadness of
the moment. Her mother had spoken too much, and now came on the
miserable faintness. She never spoke again coherently; but when her
children and her husband stood by her bedside, she took lile Will's
hand and put it into Susan's, and looked at her with imploring eyes.
Susan clasped her arms round Will, and leaned her head upon his
little curly one, and vowed within herself to be as a mother to him.