“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 know which is hers, the thin paper and the writing that runs along.”

“And the other is from Uncle John.”

“To me?” she queried.

“No, this is mine, but I will read it to you.  First I want to tell you about Aunt Prue’s home.”

“Is it like this? near the sea? and can I play on the beach and see the lions?”

“It is near the sea, but it is not like this; her home is in a city by the sea.  The house is a large house.  It was painted dark brown, years ago, with red about the window frames, and the yard in front was full of flowers that Aunt Prue had the care of, and the yard at the back was deep and wide with maples in it and a swing that she used to love to swing in; she was almost like a little girl then herself.”