home with little Enoch in
her arms. But when they got into the house, her mother sat down and
burst into tears.

'What is it, mother dear?' said the child. 'Are you tired?'

'No, my dear, it isn't that,' she said. 'I'll tell you some time when
the babies are asleep.'

They were asleep much sooner than usual that night; the fresh air had
made them sleepy, and Poppy and her mother had a quiet evening.

'Tell me why you were crying, mother dear, when we came home from
church.'

'Oh, Poppy!' said her mother, 'I don't know how to tell you, my poor
little lassie.'

'What is it, mother? Do tell me.'

'You know you said God had sent a present for you, Poppy, when the
babies came?'

'Yes--for me and you, mother,' said the child.

'Poppy,' said her mother, 'I think He's going to give you the biggest
share of it. I think I'm going to die, Poppy, and leave you all. Oh!
Poppy, Poppy, Poppy!' and she sobbed as if her heart would break.

Poppy felt as if she were dreaming, and could not understand what her
mother was saying. Mrs. Byres, in the house opposite, had died a little
time before, but then she had been ill in bed for many a month; and Mrs.
Jack's little boy and girl had died, but then they had had a fever. Her
mother could walk about, and could go out to work, and could look after
the babies. How _could_ she be going to die?

'I didn't like to tell you, Poppy,' her mother went on; 'but it is true,
my darling, and it's better you should know before it comes.'

'But, mother, you are not ill, are you?' said the child; and as she said
this she looked at her mother. Yes, she certainly did look very thin,
and pale, and tired, as she sat by the fire.

'I'm failing fast, Poppy,' said her mother; 'wasting away. I've felt it
coming on me a long time, dear--before your father went away. And last
week I got a ticket for the dispensary, and the doctor said he couldn't
do nothing for me; it was too late, he said. If it wasn't for you and
the babies, Poppy, I would be glad to go, for I'm very, very tired.'

'Mother,' said Poppy, with a great sob, 'however will we get along
without you?'

'I don't know,' said the poor woman. 'I don't know, Poppy; but the good
Lord knows; and He _is_ a good Lord, child. He's never failed me yet,
and I know He'll help you--I know He will. Come to me, my darling.'

And the mother took her little girl in her arms, and held her to her
bosom, and they had a good cry together.

But before ver