and she, Maurice, and Toby had their breakfast in truly picnic
fashion. Afterward the children and dog stayed out in the court for
the rest of the day. The little court faced south, and the sun stayed
on it for many hours, so that Maurice was not cold, and every hour or
so Cecile crept upstairs and listened outside the sitting-room door.
There was always that hard breathing within, but otherwise no sound.
At last the sun went off the court, and Maurice got cold and cried,
and then Cecile, as softly as she had brought him out, took him back
to their little bedroom. Having had no sleep the night before, she
was very weary now, and she lay down on the bed, and before she had
time to think about it was fast asleep.

From this sleep she was awakened by a hand touching her, a light
being flashed in her eyes, and Aunt Lydia's strong, deep voice
bidding her get up and come with her at once.

Cecile followed her without a word into the next room.

The dying woman was sitting up on a sofa, supported by pillows, and
her breathing came quicker and louder than ever.

"Cecile," she gasped, "Cecile, say that bit--bit of a hymn once
again."

"I am so glad Jesus loves me,
Even me."

repeated the child instantly.

"Even me," echoed the dying woman.