'Poor thing! poor young thing!' said the sick woman. 'I'm glad you took her
in; mind you give her a good breakfast She does well to go back to her
mother; it's the best thing she can do. Is she asleep, Rosalie?'

'Yes, mammie dear, she went to sleep before I did.'

'Do you think it would wake her if you were to sing to me?'

'No, mammie dear, I shouldn't think so, if I didn't sing very loud.'

'Then could you sing me your hymn once more? I've had the tune in my ears
all night, and I should so much like to hear it.'

So little Rosalie sang her hymn. She had a sweet low voice, and she sang
very correctly; if she had heard a tune once she never forgot it.

When she had finished singing, Jessie moved, and opened her eyes, and
looked up with a smile, as if she were in the midst of a pleasant dream.
Then, as she saw the inside of the caravan, the sick woman, and Rosalie,
she remembered where she was, and burst into tears.

'What's the matter?' said the child, running up to her, and putting her
arms round her neck; 'were you thinking of your mother?'

'No, dear,' she said; 'I was dreaming.'

'Ask her what she was dreaming,' said Rosalie's mother.

'I was dreaming I was at home, and it was Sunday, and we were at the
Bible-class, and singing the hymn we always begin with, I was singing it