“I wish He would call me!  Oh, I wish He would call me!” groaned Morgan, hiding his face in his hands.  “What shall I do when you are gone?  Oh, dear!  Oh. dear!”

“Father!” Mary spoke calmly again.  “You are not ready to go yet.  God will let you live here longer, that you may get ready.”

“How can I get ready without you to help me, Mary?  My angel child!”

“Haven’t I tried to help you, father, oh, so many times?” said Mary.

“Yes—­yes—­you’ve always tried.”

“But it wasn’t any use.  You would go out—­you would go to the tavern.  It seemed most as if you couldn’t help it.”

Morgan groaned in spirit.

“Maybe I can help you better, father, after I die.  I love you so much, that I am sure God will let me come to you, and stay with you always, and be your angel.  Don’t you think he will, mother?”

But Mrs. Morgan’s heart was too full.  She did not even try to answer, but sat, with streaming eyes, gazing upon her child’s face.

“Father.  I dreamed something about you, while I slept to-day.”  Mary again turned to her father.

“What was it, dear?”

“I thought it was night, and that I was still sick.  You promised not to go out again until I was well.  But you did go out; and I thought you went over to Mr. Slade’s tavern.  When I knew this, I felt as strong as when I was well, and I got up and dressed myself, and started out after you.  But I hadn’t gone far, before I met Mr. Slade’s great bull-dog, Nero, and he growled at me so dreadfully that I was frightened and ran back home.  Then I started again, and went away round by Mr. Mason’s.  But there was Nero in the road, and this time he caught my dress in his mouth and tore a great piece out of the skirt.  I ran back again, and he chased me all the way home.  Just as I got to the door.  I looked around, and there was Mr. Slade, setting Nero on me.  As soon as I saw Mr. Slade, though he looked at me very wicked, I lost all my fear, and turning around, I walked past Nero, who showed his teeth, and growled as fiercely as ever, but didn’t touch me.  Then Mr. Slade tried to stop me.  But I didn’t mind him, and kept right on, until I came to the tavern, and there you stood in the door.  And you were dressed so nice.  You had on a new hat and a new coat; and your boots were new, and polished just like Judge Hammond’s.  I said:  ‘Oh father! is this you?’ And then you took me up in your arms and kissed me, and said:  ’Yes, Mary, I am your real father.  Not old Joe Morgan—­but Mr. Morgan now.’  It seemed all so strange, that I looked into the bar-room to see who was there.  But it wasn’t a bar-room any longer; but a store full of goods.  The sign of the ‘Sickle and Sheaf’ was taken down; and over the door I now read your name, father.  Oh!  I was so glad, that I awoke—­and then I cried all to myself, for it was only a dream.”

The last words were said very mournfully, and with a drooping of Mary’s lids, until the tear-gemmed lashes lay close upon her cheeks.  Another period of deep silence followed—­for the oppressed listeners gave no utterance to what was in their hearts.  Feeling was too strong for speech.  Nearly five minutes glided away, and then Mary whispered the name of her father, but without opening her eyes.