fond words of her mother were sweet music to her ear.

The father approached, and bent over her.

"My little Eva," he whispered, "will you not speak to me?"

"I love you, dear father," was the earnest answer, "and when I am in
Heaven I will pray for you, and for my poor mother;" and again those
speaking eyes were riveted upon the mother's face, as if she would
read her inmost griefs.

The physician entered, and, in the vain hope of prolonging life,
judged it necessary to make some external applications to relieve
the difficulty of breathing, which was fast increasing. The pain was
borne without a murmur.

"Do I not try to be patient, mother?" whispered that little voice.

"Yes, darling, you are a dear, patient, good little girl."

An expression of happiness, amounting almost to rapture, beamed in
Eva's face, at these words of unqualified praise.

"Oh, mother! dear, dear mother," she exclaimed, "will you not always
call your little Eva your dear, good little girl? Oh, I will try to
be so very good if you will. My heart is so glad now," and with the
strength produced by the sudden excitement, she clasped her feeble
arms about her mother's neck.

"Her mind begins to wander," whispered the physician to the father;