e. "Yes, I know--but it's
so nice," was the reply. "Pearlie will be six in September," said the
gentle mother; "we must have a Teachers' meeting for her, I think." "But
perhaps I sha'n't ever be six," said the little one. "Oh Pearlie, why
do you say so?" "Well, people don't all be six, you know," affirmed our
darling with solemn eyes and two dimples in the rosy cheeks, that were
hid forever from us before the next Sabbath day.

On the Wednesday we borrowed from a little friend the other books of the
series, thinking they might afford some amusement for the weary hours of
illness, and Annie, my next sister, read four of the birthdays to her
and then wished to stop, fearing she might be too fatigued. "No, read
one more," was the request, and "That will do--I'm five, read the last
to-morrow," she said, when it was complied with. Ah me! with how many
tears we took up that book again. That Wednesday she sat up in bed, a
glass of medicine in her hand. "Mamma," she said, "Miss Joy has gone
quite away and only left Mr. Pain. She can't come back till my throat
is well." "But Mrs. Love is here, is she not?" "Oh, yes," and the dear
heavy eyes turned from one to another. In the night, when she lay
dying, came intervals of consciousness; in one of these she took her
handkerchief and gave it to papa, who watched by her, asking him to wet
it and put it on her head. When he told us, we recollected the incident
when Susy in the favorite book was ill. And can you understand how our
hearts felt very tender toward you and we said you must be thanked.
I should weary you if I told you all the incidents that presented
themselves of how sweet and good she was in her illness; how in the
agony of those last hours, when no fear of infection could restrain the
passionate kisses papa was showering on her, the dear voice said with a
stop and an effort between each word, "Don't kiss me on my mouth,
papa; you may catch it"; how everything she asked for was prefaced by
"please," how self was always last in her thoughts. "I'm keeping you
awake, you darling." "Don't stand there--you'll be so tired--sit down or
go down-stairs, if you like."

I will send you a photograph of little Pearlie; it is the best we have,
but was taken when she was only two years old. She was very small for
her age and had been very delicate until the last year of her life.

In writing thus to thank you I am not only doing an act of justice to
yourself, but fulfilling wishes now