“Honey, I’ve had a dream!  Such a glorious dream!  I thought the door opened, and the Blessed Virgin, surrounded by bright spirits, came in, and stood around me; and it seemed to me that I was so full of joy, that I lifted up my old shrivelled arm to welcome her.  Oh, my dear missis!  I never see so much brightness and beauty together before, and never heard such joyful sounds.  It seemed like music talking.  And, honey, what is stranger than all, I saw you there, and I thought the Blessed Virgin took a white lily out of her bosom, and laid it on your head, and smiled.  Oh, missy, wasn’t it comforting to have such a dream?”

“It was a glorious dream, Aunt Mabel!” said May, while the blood, with rapturous motion, bounded through her veins, and filled her face with a glowing hue.  “You seemed to see it all.  Your eyes were open, and your lame arm was really stretched out towards the door, as if to welcome some bright company.  Oh may that white flower, which you saw laid on my head, go down, and take deep root in my heart.”

“It will, honey.  Let me kiss your hand, and lay mine on your head, little missy.  You’ve been my earthly helper, and your Heavenly Father will be yours.  My blessing aint of no account, but I give it to you with all my feeble powers.  May you be blessed in every thing in this world and the next.  It’s growing mighty dark now, honey; hold my hand, till it grows light again.”  With a last effort, she lifted May’s hand to her lips, and kissed it; then a deep lethargy stole over her.  May said the prayers for the departing soul, and recommended the dying one to the tender care of the Immaculate Mother of Jesus.  A ray from the setting sun, stealing through the trees without, flowed into the shaded room, and rested on her pillow in flickering radiance; and ere it passed away, her spirit had sped from its tenement of clay to undergo the judgment which, after death, every soul must stand.  It was a sweet falling asleep with her, so gently had death released her from the bonds of flesh.  An hour passed by, and still May knelt, absorbed in prayer, and earnest intercession for the departed.  It was growing dark, and rising up, she straightened and composed old Mabel’s limbs; and covering her face, went out and called the child, and bid her go for one of the neighboring women to come in, and prepare the body for interment.  She looked in the chest for the grave-clothes which the old woman had kept and guarded as her only treasure for years and years; and finding every thing needful in the parcel, gave it to the woman, with strict injunctions to arrange every thing with the greatest decency, and watch by her through the night.  Promising to be there early in the morning to pay and relieve her, she hurried to Father Fabian to leave word with him, and request him to make the necessary arrangements for the interment—­the expenses of which she wished to defray herself.  It was quite dark when she got home, and feeling wearied and overcome, she retired early, filled with gratitude for the privilege she had enjoyed, of seeing one so good and humble as old Mabel die.  Death had assumed to her a benign and holy aspect; she almost felt,