"You must keep the best things. I want you to have my black silk dress and the coat trimmed with jet ornaments. They will come in nicely for your wedding. Perhaps George would like a brooch. Tell Bessie and Robert to come here at five o'clock to be forgiven--but I won't promise. You must write to Percy, and tell him I was so sorry not to be able to say good-bye, but the end came suddenly, though I was quite prepared for it. Why aren't you packing my clothes--or did you say George was doing it?" "I'll call him. And if you worry me much more I shall swear," said Nellie. George came and mourned over his aunt because the time of separation was at hand. Miss Yard agreed, but almost forgot her own impending departure when George explained he was referring to himself. "Oh, but you are not going to die yet. I'm sure that isn't necessary. Besides, you are looking so well," she said earnestly. "He is not looking a bit better than you are," cried Nellie. "I am about to start on a long journey, Aunt," said George piteously. "Oh, yes! I remember now about the island in the Pacific where the tomatoes grow." "I have been working rather too much lately, and need a rest," he explained; "but directly you want me back you have only to send an invitation." "I shall be left all alone--oh, but I forgot," said Miss Yard, interrupting herself in a shocked voice. "You must stay, George, to do me a great favour. I want you to bury me in Westminster Abbey in the next grave to Queen Elizabeth." "My dear Miss Sophy!" exclaimed Nellie. "Don't listen to that child. She is in a nasty cross mood--and somebody has been teaching her to swear. I took a fancy to Westminster Abbey when I was quite young, and, even if it is rather expensive, I should like to treat myself to a grave there." "I'll see to it," George promised. "You shouldn't say such a wicked thing," cried Nellie. "Are you suffering at all, Aunt?" he inquired, anxious to change the subject. "I don't think so," said Miss Yard. "It's all going to be wonderfully peaceful. I'm so thankful!" "Shall I ask the vicar to call?" George whispered. "Of course not," said Nellie fretfully. "She would think he had come to prepare her. I am very sorry you sent for the doctor. Here's another beastly wasp! Do kill it." "Is she packing my clothes?" whispered Miss Yard, peering over the bedspread. "No, and I'm not going to," replied the young rebel. George struck out manfully at the living wasp, knocked it down somewhere, and began to search for the body which was still buzzing. "Oh dear!" cried Miss Yard. "There's such a dreadful pain in my hand." "I knocked it on the bed. She really is stung this time!" George shouted, seizing the insect in his handkerchief and destroying it; while Nellie fled for the restoratives which were necessary at last.