“I am losing my strength, as you all know,” said Clara “and the day is very near when I shall reach for the hand that will lead me to the hills.  Now, Louis, my dear boy, here is the paper I have written, wherein I give to you all the things I believe you will prize.  I believe I have remembered all who have been so kind and so dear to me, and I know you will comply with every wish, and I desire no form of the law to cover my words.”  Louis took the papers with a trembling hand, and she continued:  “It is wise and right for me to tell you about the laying away of this frame of mine, for I know if I do not tell you about it many questions will arise, and we will have them all settled now before I go beyond your hearing.  I shall hear you and see you all the time.

“First, buy for me a cedar coffin, since it will please you to remember that this wood lasts longer in the ground than any other.  Do not have any unnecessary trimmings for it, and I would like to wear in this last resting-place the blue dress I prize the most.  You will find in my large trunk the little pillow I have made for my head; just let me lie there a little on one side, and put a few of Emily’s sweet violets in my hand that I may be pleasant to look upon.  Leave no rings upon my fingers; these I wear, my Louis Robert gave me, and you must keep them for his grandchild,” and as she said this, she unfastened the shining chain that she had worn hidden so many years, and putting it around our little Emily’s neck, said:  “Let her always wear the chain and the locket,” and while the baby’s eyes reflected the gleam of the gold that dazzled them, we were all weeping.  “Do not feel so,” said Clara; “it is beautiful to go; let me tell you the rest.  All these people whom I have known will desire to look at my face, and for their sakes let me be carried into the old church which has become to me so dear.  I have asked Mr. Davis to preach from the text, ‘I am the resurrection and the life.’

“Be sure that the children from the Home all go, and I would like you with them to occupy the front pews.  I have a fancy,” and she smiled, “that if you sit there it will help me to come near to my deserted tenement.  I know I shall be with you there, and I hope you will never call me dead.  My house of clay is nearly dead now, and the more strength it loses the stronger my spirit feels.  Mr. Minot said, long since, that I might own part of his lot in the churchyard, and I would like to be buried under the willow there.  I like that corner best.  Do not ever tell little Emily I am there; just say I’m gone away to rest and to be well and strong, and when she is older tell her the frame that held the picture is beneath the grasses, and that my freed soul loves her and watches her, for it will be true.  If you feel, Louis, my dear boy, like bringing your father’s remains to rest beside me, you can do so.  It will not trouble either of us, for it matters little; we are to be together.  This is all, except that, if