“Mother dear,” she said, upon entering their one poverty-stricken, but scrupulously neat, little room, “I’m going to deliver a package over on Lake Avenue for Mis’ Gray, and will not be back for about an hour and a half, she told me to tell you; and she gave me ten cents, too.  Ain’t that nice?  I’m going to get some beefsteak, and she’ll broil it.

“But, mother, she said something about your going away, and didn’t know what would become of me.  You won’t move, will you, without taking me along?  I don’t know what she could have meant.  What did she mean, anyhow?  Why do you cry, mother dear?” tremulously inquired the child, rushing impulsively up to the side of the bed.

“We’ll talk when you come back, darling.  Kiss me, my precious”; and the sufferer fell back upon her pillow, coughing violently, and moaning for very agony of spirit.

With a heart heavier than the huge package, Rosa sped down the steep stairway, out into the bitter December weather.

“Oh,” she said, half audibly, “how cold it is!  I’m glad I haven’t far to go to take the car.”

Quickly her nimble feet carried her, and in a few minutes she was scrutinizing the faces of her fellow-passengers.  Sitting across the aisle from her was a young lady, who to Rosa seemed the embodiment of beauty and elegance.  While intently studying the fair face and neat costume, this object of her admiration suddenly crossed the car and sat down by her side.  The sweet smile and cordial greeting made the child forget her timidity, and soon the two were conversing most familiarly.

“And so you are going to deliver that package over on Lake Avenue, are you?”

“Yes’m, and Mis’ Gray gave me ten cents fer it, too.  I’m going to get some steak, and she will broil it for mother’s supper.  Ain’t that nice?  I’d think I’d be happy, but I ain’t a bit.  I keep wondering what she meant about mother going away, and she didn’t know what would become of me.  Why, lady, mother just can’t move now; she’s sick and has a dreadful cough!  She hasn’t even been in to see grandpa and Mis’ Gray for a long time.  Then I know, anyhow, she’d never go and leave me.  Of course she wouldn’t, for we’re always together.  She couldn’t get along without me, ’cause I take care of her, and I know I couldn’t get along without her at all.  Mis’ Gray ought to know that, for we’ve lived by her a long time.  What do you ’spose she meant?  I can’t think about anything else.”

“Why, my little girl,” replied the stranger, while Rosa was more mystified than ever to see the blue eyes fill with tears, “sometimes when people are sick, they go to a better country than this.  Do you know about heaven?”

“Not much, ma’am.  When Mis’ Gray goes away and mother’s working, grandpa gets his old violin and sings to me about the beautiful land.  He says that’s heaven, but he can’t explain it much to me.  He says he can’t think right since Tom got killed.  You know Tom was his boy.  Grandpa is so good.  When mother moves, I know she will take me, and I wish he could go too.  But, lady, do you ’spose that’s the place where mother’s going?”