e Susy's Six Teachers," for which I desire to thank you now. Many
times I have tried to do so, but I could not; the trouble which came
upon us was too great and awful in its suddenness. Little Pearl, so
first called in the days of a fragile babyhood--Dora Margaret was her
real name--taught herself to read from her "Little Susy," during the
first fortnight she had it. And she would sit for hours, literally,
amusing and interesting herself by it. She talked constantly of the
Six Teachers, and a word about them was enough to quell any rising
naughtiness. "Pearlie, what would Mr. Ought say?" or "Don't grieve Mrs.
Love," was always sufficient. Do you know what it is to have one the
youngest in a large family? My darling was seventeen years younger than
I. I left school when she was born to take the oversight of the nursery,
which dear mamma's illness and always delicate health prevented her from
doing. I had nursed her in her illnesses, dressed her, made the little
frocks--now laid so sadly by--and to all the rest of us she had been
more like a child than a sister. Friends used to say, "It is a wonder
that child is not spoiled"; but they could never say she _was_. Merry,
full of life and fun she always was, quick and intelligent, full of
droll sayings which recur to us now with _such_ a pain. From Christmas
to the end of February we often remarked to one another how good that
child was! laughing and playing from morning to night, yet never unruly
or wild. That February we had illness in the house. Jessie, the next
youngest, had diphtheria, but she recovered, and we trusted all danger
was passed, when one Monday evening--the last in the month--our darling
seemed ill. The next day we recognised the symptoms we had seen in
Jessie, and the doctor was called in. Tuesday and Wednesday he came and
gave no hint of danger, but on Wednesday night we perceived a change and
on Thursday came the sentence: No hope. Oh friend, dear friend! how can
I tell you of the long hours when we could not help our darling--of the
dark night when, forbidden the room from the malignity of the case, we
went to bed to coax mamma to do so--of the grey February dawn when there
came the words, "Our darling is _quite well_ now"--quite well, forever
taken from the evil to come.

The Sunday night before, she came into the parlor with "Susy" under her
arm and petitioned for some one to read the "Teachers' meeting." "Why,
you read it twice this afternoon," said on