The good woman went into the business fundamentally, and now that she undertook with Pauline, she was in no haste to get through. When they stopped to take breath she looked in Pauline's face. "La! it beats all natur how she grows like her pa." The dear soul had forgotten the fact which interested her so much years ago, and really supposed the child to be our own. "There's--what do you call her?" "Ellen," I answered. "There's Ellen now, looks more like you, while Pauline is clear father. I'll venture he sets a sight by her." Pauline laughed, though she didn't know exactly the meaning of the latter phrase. "Blessed little soul," she resumed with another squeeze, "what made you think o' that?" "Because," said Pauline, "you are so kind." I looked inquiringly at the whisperer. "La!" said Aunt Susy wiping her eyes, "the dear little cretur says she loves me, and I don't know what it's for, if 'taint that I loved your pa long enough afore you was born; and I used to hold him on my lap, and sing 'Ride a jack horse to Banbury cross,' and he'd laugh as hearty as the baby did just now." At this very moment Mrs. Wilson returned from the garden, when her mother called out, "Darter, did you ever hear tell that Doctor Frank had had another baby?" "Oh, yes, mother!" she answered, shaking hands with me, "and you knew it too at the time, but you've forgotten." "Well, p'r'aps I did," she said with a sigh, "my memory's grown very poor; but I haven't forgotten where my Saviour is," she added, her countenance brightening, "nor he wont forget me; though sometimes I'm almost tempted to fear he don't altogether remember how long I've been expecting he'd send for me to go home. Every morning I ask him if it's God's will to take me before night; and every night I pray to go before the sun rises. But he knows best, and I try not to feel impatient o' waiting for him." I cannot describe the holy expression of the dear old lady as she said this. _Thursday, June 25th._ How little I thought when I wrote the last sentence, that I should never more feel that warm embrace; never meet those eyes beaming with love. The dear blessed woman is now where she so longed and prayed to be. Her Saviour had not forgotten her, but came during the silent watches of the night and took her home. So silently did she resign her spirit to her beloved Lord, that not even her daughter, whose room joins hers, and who heard her whispering her prayers and hymns after she retired, knew aught of the solemn visitor. But he was not unexpected, or unwelcome to the sleeper. She was so impatient to answer the summons, she could not stop to bid farewell to her earthly friends. Her Saviour called, and she hastened to obey.