rought from England. The design of the window showed
Jesus blessing little children. Time had dealt gently with the window;
but just at the feet of the figure of Jesus a small triangular piece of
glass had been broken out. To this aperture Sophy applied her eyes, and
through it saw and heard what she could of the services within.

Before the chancel, on trestles draped in black, stood the sombre casket
in which lay all that was mortal of her dear teacher. The top of the
casket was covered with flowers; and lying stretched out underneath it
she saw Miss Myrover's little white dog, Prince. He had followed the
body to the church, and, slipping in unnoticed among the mourners, had
taken his place, from which no one had the heart to remove him.

The white-robed rector read the solemn service for the dead, and then
delivered a brief address, in which he spoke of the uncertainty of life,
and, to the believer, the certain blessedness of eternity. He spoke of
Miss Myrover's kindly spirit, and, as an illustration of her love and
self-sacrifice for others, referred to her labors as a teacher of the
poor ignorant negroes who had been placed in their midst by an all-wise
Providence, and whom it was their duty to guide and direct in the
station in which God had put them. Then the organ pealed, a prayer was
said, and the long cortege moved from the church to the cemetery, about
half a mile away, where the body was to be interred.

When the services were over, Sophy sprang down from her perch, and,
taking her flowers, followed the procession. She did not walk with the
rest, but at a proper and respectful distance from the last mourner. No
one noticed the little black girl with the bunch of yellow flowers, or
thought of her as interested in the funeral.

The cortege reached the cemetery and filed slowly through the gate; but
Sophy stood outside, looking at a small sign in white letters on a black
background:--

"NOTICE. This cemetery is for white people only. Others please keep
out."

Sophy, thanks to Miss Myrover's painstaking instruction, could read this
sign very distinctly. In fact, she had often read it before. For Sophy
was a child who loved beauty, in a blind, groping sort of way, and had
sometimes stood by the fence of the cemetery and looked through at the
green mounds and shaded walks and blooming flowers within, and wished
that she could walk among them. She knew, too, that the little sign on
the gate, though so courteo