and smiled
himself.

"Why should I, father dear?" she replied. "When one's father breaks
one's watch, what is there to say but 'I am very glad it was you did
it'? I shall like the little thing the better for it."

He kissed her on the forehead.

"My child, say that to your Father in heaven, when he breaks something
for you. He will do it from love, not from blundering. I don't often
preach to you, my child--do I? but somehow it comes to me to-night."

"I will remember, father," said Mary; and she did remember.

She went with him to his bedroom, and saw that everything was right for
him. When she went again, before going to her own, he felt more
comfortable, he said, and expected to have a good night. Relieved, she
left him; but her heart would be heavy. A shapeless sadness seemed
pressing it down; it was being got ready for what it had to bear.

When she went to his room in the middle of the night, she found him
slumbering peacefully, and went back to her own and slept better. When
she went again in the morning, he lay white, motionless, and without a
breath.

It was not in Mary's nature to give sudden vent to her feelings. For a
time she was stunned. As if her life had rushed to overtake her
departing parent, and beg a last embrace, she stood gazing motionless.
The sorrow was too huge for entrance. The thing could not be! Not until
she stooped and kissed the pale face, did the stone in her bosom break,
and yield a torrent of grief. But, although she had left her father in
that very spot the night before, already she not only knew but felt
that was not he which lay where she had left him. He was gone, and she
was alone. She tried to pray, but her heart seemed to lie dead in her
bosom, and no prayer would rise from it. It was the time of all times
when, if ever, prayer must be the one reasonable thing--and pray she
could not. In her dull stupor she did not hear Beenie's knock. The old
woman entered, and found her on her knees, with her forehead on one of
the dead hands, while the white face of her master lay looking up to
heaven, as if praying for the living not yet privileged to die. Then
first was the peace of death broken. Beenie gave a loud cry, and turned
and ran, as if to warn the neighbors that Death was loose in the town.
Thereupon, as if Death were a wild beast yet lurking in it, the house
was filled with noise and tumult; the sanctuary of the dead was invaded
by unhallowed presence; and the poor girl,