The children gathered round the curious object on the beach. None of them had ever seen such a funny old gum boot, and surely none of them had ever seen such a funny little oyster. They tore the pale, knotted little thing from her foster-mother, and handled her with such rough curiosity that even had she been a robust oyster she must certainly have died. At any rate, the little oyster was dead now; and the bereaved perch with green fins must have known it, for he swam up and down his native cove disconsolately. It befell in that same hour that Margaret lay upon her deathbed, and knowing that she had not long to live, she sent for Edward. And Edward, when he came to her, was filled with anguish, and clasping her hands in his, he told her of his love. Then Margaret answered him: "I knew it, dear one; and all the songs I have sung and all the words I have spoken and all the prayers I have made have been with you, dear one,--all with _you_ in my heart of hearts." "You have purified and exalted my life," cried Edward; "you have been my best and sweetest inspiration; you have taught me the eternal truth,--you are my beloved!" And Margaret said: "Then in my weakness hath there been a wondrous strength, and from my sufferings cometh the glory I have sought--" So Margaret died, and like a broken lily she lay upon her couch; and all the sweetness of her pure and gentle life seemed to come down and rest upon her face; and the songs she had sung and the beautiful stories she had told were back, too, on angel wings, and made sweet music in that chamber. The children were lingering on the beach when Edward came that day. He could hear them singing the songs Margaret had taught them. They wondered that he came alone. "See," cried one of the boys, running to meet him and holding a tiny shell in his hand,--"see what we have found in this strange little shell. Is it not beautiful!" Edward took the dwarfed, misshapen thing and lo! it held a beauteous pearl. _O little sister mine, let me look into your eyes and read an inspiration there; let me hold your thin white hand and know the strength of a philosophy more beautiful than human knowledge teaches; let me see in your dear, patient little face and hear in your gentle voice the untold valor of your suffering life. Come, little sister, let me fold you in my arms and have you ever with me, that in the glory of your faith and love I may walk the paths of wisdom and of peace._ 1887. * * * * * The Springtime. THE SPRINGTIME. A child once said to his grandsire: "Gran'pa, what do the flowers mean when they talk to the old oak-tree about death? I hear them talking every day, but I cannot understand; it is all very strange."