trangers, not at all shy,
looking out upon the world with confiding eyes, and knowing nothing to be
afraid of or ashamed of. Nurse had been her only teacher; she could
barely read a chapter in the New Testament, and when her father gave her
ten cents and then five more she could not tell him how many cents she
held in her hand.

"No matter, I don't want you to count money," he said.

Before he recovered his breath and self-possession she was at his side
with the flowers she had hastily plucked--scarlet geranium, heliotrope,
sweet alyssum, the gorgeous yellow and orange poppy, and the lovely blue
and white lupine. He received them with a listless smile and laid them
upon his knee; as he bade her again to eat the strawberries she brought
them to his side, now and then coaxing a "particularly splendid" one into
his mouth, pressing them between his lips with her stained fingers.

"Papa, your eyes shine to-day! You are almost well. Nurse doesn't know."

"What does Nurse say?"

"That you will die soon; and then where shall I go?"

"Would you like to know where you will go?"

"I don't want to go anywhere; I want to stay here with you."

"But that is impossible, Jerrie."

"Why! Who says so?" she questioned, fixing her wondering eyes on his.

"God," he answered solemnly.

"Does he know all about it?"

"Yes."

"Has it _got_ to be so, then?" she asked, awed.

"Yes."

"Well, what is the rest, then?"

"Sit down and I'll tell you."

"I'd rather stand, please. I never like to sit down."

"Stand still then, dear, and lean on the arm of my chair and not on me;
you take my breath away,"

"Poor papa! Am I so big? As big as a sea lion?"

Not heeding her--more than half the time he heard her voice without
heeding her words--he turned the sheets in his fingers, lifted them as if
to read them and then dropped his hand.

"Jerrie, what have I told you about Uncle John who lives near the other
ocean?"

Jerrie thought a moment: "That he is good and will love me dearly, and be
ever so kind to me and teach me things?"

"And Prue, Aunt Prue; what do you know about her?"

"I know I have some of her name, not all, for her name is Pomeroy; and
she is as beautiful as a queen and as good; and she will love me more
than Uncle John will, and teach me how to be a lovely lady, too."

"Yes, that is all true; one of these letters is from her, written to
you--"

"Oh, to me! to _me_."

"I will read it to you presently."

"I