had been for several nights,
and very much ashamed of her last outbreak. She sat down on the top of
the stairs, listening for little Meg to read aloud, but she heard only
the sobs and moanings of Robin, who called incessantly for Meg, without
getting any answer. Kitty waited for some time, hearkening for her
voice, but after a while she knocked gently at the door. There was no
reply, but after knocking again and again she heard Robin call out in a
frightened tone.

'What's that?' he cried.

'It's me, your own Kitty,' she said; 'where's little Meg?'

'I don't know,' said Robin, 'she's gone away, and there's nobody but me
and baby; and baby's asleep, and so cold.'

'What are you crying for, Robbie?' asked Kitty.

'I'm crying for everything,' said Robin.

'Don't you be frightened, Robbie,' she said soothingly; 'Kitty'll stay
outside the door, and sing pretty songs to you, till Meg comes home.'

She waited a long time, till the clocks struck twelve, and still Meg
did not come. From time to time Kitty spoke some reassuring words to
Robin, or sang him some little songs she remembered from her own
childhood; but his cries grew more and more distressing, and at length
Kitty resolved to break her promise, and unlock Meg's door once again
to move the children into her own attic.

She lit a candle, and entered the dark room. The fire was gone out,
and Robin sat up on the pillow, his face wet with tears and his black
eyes large with terror. The baby, which lay beside him, seemed very
still, with its wasted puny hands crossed upon its breast; so quiet and
still that Kitty looked more closely, and held the light nearer to its
slumbering face. What could ail it? What had brought that awful smile
upon its tiny face? Kitty touched it fearfully with the tip of her
finger; and then she stood dumb and motionless before the terrible
little corpse.

She partly knew, and partly guessed, what had done this thing. She
recollected, but vaguely enough, that one of her companions, who had
grown weary of the little creature's pitiful cry, had promised to quiet
it for her, and how speedily it had fallen off into a profound,
unbroken slumber. And there it lay, in the same slumber perhaps. She
touched it again; but no, the sleep it slept now was even deeper than
that--a sleep so sound that its eyelids would never open again to this
world's light, nor its sealed lips ever utter a word of this world's
speech. Kitty could scarcel