she knew.

. . . . . . .


"It don't seem like no year ago to me!" Over
and over she had said these words. The face was
very pale and thin, and the eyes so bright--so
bright! The kindly hand that smoothed away the
little sufferer's hair trembled and dropped tenderly
again upon the folded ones beneath the snowy
spread.

"Git me out the picture again!"

The trembling hand lifted once more and searched
beneath the pillow.

She drew the thin hands up, and, smiling, pressed
the pictured face against her lips. "David--Mason
--Jeffries," she said--"le's--me--and--you--go--
play--out--on--the--stairs!"

And ever in the empty home a voice goes
moaning on and on, and "Where is Mary Alice?" it
cries, and "Where--is--Mary--Alice--Smith?"
And the still belated echo, through the high depths
of the old hall overhead, answers quaveringly back,
"Oh--she--has--gone--home!" But her voice--
it is silent evermore!