stand what I
mean, and you must tell him, for I shall not be here when he comes, I am
sure of it. I hope to live till Uncle Arthur comes, for I must see him
and ask him not to be hard on poor father, and tell him that I am sorry
that I have been so long in your place where you should have been. You
will stay here when he comes, and be with me to the last. I want you
with me--want you to hold my hand when I say good-bye for ever. You are
so strong that I shall not be afraid with you to see and hear as long as
I hear and see anything.'

'And are you afraid?' Jerrie asked, and Maude replied:

'Of the death struggle, yes; but not what lies beyond where He is, the
Saviour, for I know I am going to Heaven; and when you think me asleep I
am often praying silently for more faith and love, and for you all, that
you may one day come where I soon shall be. Heaven is very, very
beautiful, for I have seen it in my dreams--a material heaven some would
say, for there are trees and flowers, and grass; and on a golden bench,
beneath a tree whose leaves are like emeralds, and whose blossoms are
like pearls, I am sitting, on the bank of a shining river, resting,
resting, and waiting, as little Pilgrim waited for the coming of the
Master, and for you all.'

Maude was very tired now, and her voice was so low that Jerrie could
scarcely hear it, while the eyelids drooped heavily, and in a few
moments she fell asleep, with a rapt look on her as if she were already
resting on the golden seat beneath the tree whose leaves were emeralds
and whose blossoms were like pearls.

That night Jerrie wrote as follows:

'Dear Harold, come home as soon as you can, for Maude is very low,
and, unless you come soon, you will never see her again. The judge
has written you of me, but I must tell you myself that nothing can
ever change me from the Jerrie of old; and the fact which makes me
the happiest is that now I can help you who have been so kind to me.
How I long to see you and talk it all over. We expect Mr. Arthur in
a few days. I cannot call him father yet, until he has given me the
right to do so by calling me daughter first; but to myself I am
calling Gretchen mother all the time--dear, sweet, darling little
mother! Oh, Harold, you must come home and share my happiness. Truly
Harold, you ought to see how stiffly Mrs. Tracy carries herself
toward me--stiffer, if possible, than she did when I came up th