? Do speak," said Milly. "What _is_ the trouble? Is
Matty ill? do you mean she is dying?"

"The doctor said so, Miss Milly. 'Twas the fire-engine. But _do_ be
quick!"

A sickening horror came over me, and Milly turned as white as a sheet;
but no more time was lost. We hurried into the carriage, bade Jim mount
beside the coachman, and, not even knowing whither we were bound, left
the directions to him.

But the drive to our unknown destination was not a long one; and in two
minutes we drew up at Dutch Johnny's little flower-store, around which
a crowd had gathered, through which we had to push our way; or rather
the policeman, who stood by the door, opened a way for us.

Stretched upon the floor, in the midst of all the delicate verdure and
brilliant color in the florist's small store, lay Matty, her little
shorn head supported upon the breast of Mrs. Petersen, who was bending
over her with the tears running down her cheeks. At Mrs. Petersen's
side was Tony, leaning his head against her other shoulder, his face a
mixture of terror, grief, and bewilderment, both his hands clasping
those of Matty; around were grouped Johnny, a doctor, and a second
officer.

Matty's eyes were fixed upon the door; and as we entered, a sudden
gleam of intelligence and pleasure lighted them. She drew one of her
hands from Tony's clasp, and stretched it out to me.

Regardless of my light spring costume as it came in contact with the
damp floor of the greenhouse, I knelt in front of Mrs. Petersen, and
bent over the poor little creature. Only once in my life had I seen
death; and then neither my affections nor my sympathies had been
enlisted, and my sensations, from the nature of the circumstances, had
been only those of horror and repulsion, and I had fled from the sight,
while now the recollection of it was as some dreadful dream. Never
before had I seen a soul pass from the one life to the other; but
countless experiences could not have told me the truth more forcibly
than did the look upon the face so small, so pitifully old and
care-worn. The hand of God's angel had already written it too plainly
there.

A merciful angel, blotting out the traces of suffering and weariness
and oppression such as, happily, few of God's little ones are called
upon to bear; and imprinting in their place rest and peace unspeakable.

For Matty was passing away without pain; the injuries she had received
had dulled sensation, while they were destroying li