The sweet fresh breezes came in at the open door, and fanned her careworn
face and the face of the child who sat beside her.

'Rosalie,' said her mother suddenly, 'would you like to hear about the time
when your mother was a little girl?'

'Yes, mammie dear,' said Rosalie, nestling up to her side; 'I know nothing
at all about it.'

'No, Rosalie,' said her mother; 'it's the beginning of a very sad story,
and I did not like my little girl to know about it; but I sometimes think I
sha'n't be long with you, and I had rather tell it to you myself than have
any one else tell it. And you're getting a great girl now, Rosalie; you
will be able to understand many things you could not have understood
before. And there have been things the last few days which have brought it
all back to me, and made me think of it by day and dream of it by night.'

'Please tell me, mammie dear,' said Rosalie, as her mother stopped
speaking.

'Would you like to hear it now?' said the poor woman, with a sigh, as if
she hardly liked to begin.

'Please, mammie dear,' said Rosalie.

'Then draw closer to me, child, for I don't want Toby to hear; and, mind,
you must never speak of what I'm going to tell you before your
father--_never_; promise me, Rosalie,' she said earnestly.

'No, never, mammie dear,' said little Rosalie.