"I must. Those porcelain types were promised for a certain day, and
they should be packed in time for the afternoon express going to
Boston."

"Beryl."

"Well, mother?"

"Come nearer to me. Give me your hand. My heart is so oppressed by
dread, that I want you to promise me something, which I fancy will
lighten my burden. Life is very uncertain, and if I should die, what
would become of my Bertie? Oh, my boy! my darling, my first born! He
is so impulsive, so headstrong; and no one but his mother could ever
excuse or forgive his waywardness. Although younger, you are in some
respects, the strongest; and I want your promise that you will
always be patient and tender with him, and that you will shield him
from evil, as I have tried to do. His conscience of course, is not
sensitive like yours--because you know, a boy's moral nature is
totally different from a girl's; and like most of his sex, Bertie
has no religious instincts bending him always in the right
direction. Women generally have to supply conscientious scruples
for men, and you can take care of your brother, if you will. You are
unusually brave and strong, Beryl, and when I am gone, you must
stand between him and trouble. My good little girl, will you?"

The large luminous eyes that rested upon the flushed face of the
invalid, filled with a mist of yearning compassionate tenderness,
and taking her mother's hands, Beryl laid the palms together, then
stooping nearer, kissed her softly.