hold my hands!"

"Heaven won't--be--dark," Meg's lips said. Even when speech came,
it was only a halting, stereotyped phrase that fell from them.

"If it's all gold and diamonds, I don't want to go!" The child was
crying now. "Oh, Meg, I want to be alive! How'd you like to die,
Meg, when you're only thirteen? Think how lonely I'll be without
you all. Oh, Meg! Oh, Pip, Pip! Oh, Baby! Nell!"

The tears streamed down her cheeks; her chest rose and fell.

"Oh, say something, Meg!--hymns!--anything!"

Half the book of "Hymns Ancient and Modern" danced across Meg's brain.
Which one could she think of that would bring quiet into those
feverish eyes that were fastened on her face with such a frightening,
imploring look?

Then she opened her lips:

"Come unto Me, ye weary,
And I will give you rest,
Oh, bl---

"I'm not weary, I don't WANT to rest," Judy said, in a fretful tone.

Again Meg tried:

"My God, my Father, while I stray