A sharp pang shot through the young mothers heart, and her arms tightened their clasp about the little form, while the hot tears chased each other adown her cheeks.  One fell on the child’s face.

“What! mamma ky?  Mamma don’t want Elsie to go see Jesus?  Den Elsie will stay wis mamma and papa.  Don’t ky, Elsie’s mamma;” and feebly the little hand tried to wipe away her mother’s tears.

With a silent prayer for help to control her emotion, Elsie cleared her voice, and began in low, sweet tones the old, old story of Jesus and His love, His birth, His life, His death.

“Mamma, Elsie do love Jesus!” were the earnest words that followed the close of the narrative.  “Say prayer now, and go bed.  Elsie feel sick.  Mamma, stay wis Elsie?”

“Yes, my precious one, mamma will stay close beside her darling as long as she wants her.  You may say your little prayer kneeling in mamma’s lap; and then she will sing you to sleep.”

“Jesus like Elsie do dat way?”

“Yes, darling, when she’s sick.”

Mamma’s arms encircled and upheld the little form, the chubby hands were meekly folded, and the soft cheek rested against hers, while the few words of prayer faltered on the baby tongue.

Then, the posture changed to a more restful one, the sweet voice still full of tears, and often trembling with emotion, sang the little one to sleep.

Laying her gently in her crib, Elsie knelt beside it, sending up a petition with strong crying and tears; not that the young life might be spared, unless the will of God were so, but that she might be enabled to say, with all her heart, “Thy will be done.”

Ere she had finished, her husband knelt beside her asking the same for her and himself.

They rose up together, and folded to his heart, she wept out her sorrow upon his breast.

“You are very weary, little wife,” he said tenderly, passing his hand caressingly over her hair and pressing his lips again and again to the heated brow.

“It is rest to lay my head here,” she whispered.

“But you must not stand;” and sitting down he drew her to the sofa, still keeping his arm about her waist.  “Bear up, dear wife,” he said, “we will hope our precious darling is not very ill.”

She told him of the child’s words, and the sad foreboding that had entered her own heart.

“While there is life there is hope, dearest,” he said, with assumed cheerfulness.  “Let us not borrow trouble.  Does He not say to us, as to the disciples of old, ’It is I, be not afraid’?”

“Yes; and she is His; only lent to us for a season; and we dare not rebel should He see fit to recall His own,” she answered, amid her tears.  “Oh, Edward, I am so glad we indulged her this morning in her wish to play with my jewels!”

“Yes; she is the most precious of them all,” he said with emotion.

Aunt Chloe, drawing near, respectfully suggested that it might be well to separate the children, in case the little girl’s illness should prove to be contagious.