the place of his
burial; but they covered him over with the damp earth, and never a
prayer above his head; and so they went away again, perchance to repeat
the office for another miserable one.

"Mother," says Nannie, as the hardened band moved away leaving the one
mourning heart by itself, "mother, come home now, 'tis no use staying
here, and baby'll be crying for ye, ye know."

Baby!--oh! what a link to earth was that!

"Where is the child?" said the mother, with a frantic start, as if just
awakened from a frightful dream. "Isn't she dead, Nannie? Didn't they
just bury her with your father?" and she cast herself upon the moist
turf, and tore her disheveled hair until the very wildness of her
sorrow calmed her. Then she suffered Nannie to lead her away. It was a
long distance; but they reached it at last, and the mother rushed
quickly up the stairs, not seeming conscious of the change, as she heard
the child's cries; for the poor little thing, unused to such long
neglect, made all ring again with its screams.

"Did you say this was home, Nannie, or is it heaven, child?" said the
woman, as her babe was hushed, and she became somewhat awake to her new
position.

The sun was streaming upon the floor, and wall, and the snowy curtains
were fluttering in the pure breeze, and the blue waves were dancing and
sparkling in the bay, and white sails were moving rapidly about, and
from the windows two beautiful islands were visible with their summer
verdure, and the bewildered mother pressed her hand to her forehead, as
if trying to unravel the mystery, when Mr. Bond's fat and merry face
peered in at the door.

"All right," said he, with a glad smile, "how are you getting along
here, eh? Rather better than the old cellar, isn't it, Nannie?" and
helping himself to a chair, he took the baby from its mother, pinching
its cheeks and chirruping to make it laugh, until even Mrs. Bates was
forced into a more cheerful mood. But the tears would not stay long
away, and as the memory of her loss came from her from time to time, she
burst forth in a bewailing strain to her kind benefactor,

"Ye's too good to me, sir, and it's thankful to ye I am for it all; but
it's my own husband that's taken suddenly from me, and ye'll not be
minding the grief."

"I know all about it, my good woman," said he, the muscles about his
mouth quivering with emotion. He was thinking of a green grave afar off,
with a maiden name upon it, and a true heart