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Mabel’s ready tears began to flow.

“O dear!  O dear!” she sobbed, “mamma is going to die!  What shall we do?”

“Hush, Mabel!” said Edith.  “If we ought not to play, why we’ll stop; but there isn’t any use in crying so.  Do please hush this instant.”

A quick step came down the walk.  The children, looking up, saw the young lady who lived in the next house.  She had a sunbonnet on her head, and a light shawl was thrown around her, and in her hand was a pretty little bark canoe, in which was her knitting-work.

“O Miss Rose, beautiful Miss Rose!” exclaimed Edith, “you’re the very person we wanted to see.”

“Mith Rothe, when thith canoe geth too old for you, you’ll give it to me, won’t you?” said Mabel, putting her hands lovingly up towards the fanciful basket.

“Mabel,” Johnny said in a tone of reproof, “how often has mamma told you never to ask for things in that way?”

“Never mind your little sister, Johnnie,” the young lady said, “but sit down and let me hear why you were all looking so serious when I came up.  What lovely garlands you have made, and what a charming morning this is!  God is very good to give us so many bright days, and so much joy in them, isn’t he?”

Before any one could reply, a servant came up, with a request that the children would go to their Aunt Maria on the porch, and hear a message from their mother.

“Good! good!” Johnnie said, clapping his hands; but Edith and Mabel went more soberly.  Miss Rose seated herself in a favorite spot of hers, a rustic chair under the oak-tree, and waited their return.  She was fond of children, and since the little visitors had been there, she had often gone in with her knitting to talk and play with them.

After they had heard the letter, they were dismissed by Mrs. MacLain, who had her key-basket on her arm, and was very busy with her housekeeping.  They trooped back to their friend Miss Rose, and grouped themselves around her, and the little girls began to weave a wreath for her hair, while Johnnie made her a bouquet.

“The question is, Miss Rose, whether we ought to be happy while we are away from mamma and papa.”

“And while mamma is sick.”

“And perhaps might die.”

Miss Rose put her work down on her lap, and with one soft hand smoothed away the thick curls that had a way of falling over and shading Johnnie’s forehead and eyes.  She thought to herself, “What a pretty boy he is!  How noble and open and candid those eyes and that brow!” Johnnie was a very truthful little fellow, and though he had faults, he would have scorned to tell a lie or do anything mean.  At this moment Charlie Hill, Aunt Chloe’s boy, passed by with his fishing-rod and line.  So Johnnie could not stay to hear Miss Rose then.  He caught up his straw hat, seized his shrimp-net, and ran off, without even saying, “Excuse me.”

“That wath very imperlite,” observed Mabel.  “And Johnnie began asking the questions too!  He ithn’t very thad.”