CHAPTER XXXVIII. “WAITING AND WATCHING FOR ME.” It was the first of January when Rossie left Rothsay for St. Louis, and three weeks from that day a wild storm was sweeping over the hills of Vermont, and great clouds of sleet and snow went drifting down into the open grave in Bronson church-yard, toward which a little group of mourners was slowly wending its way. Neither Florida skies nor Florida air had availed to restore life and health to poor wasted, worn-out Mollie Morton, although at first she seemed much better, and Trix and Bunchie, in their childish way, thanked God, who was making their mamma well, while the Rev. Theodore, in Boston, felt something like new hope within him at the cheerful letters Mollie wrote of what Florida was doing for her. But the improvement was only temporary, and neither orange blossoms or southern sunshine could hold the spirit which longed so to be free, and which welcomed death without a shadow of fear. “I have had much to make me happy,” Mollie said to Beatrice, one day, when that faithful friend sat by her holding the tired head upon her bosom, and gently smoothing the once black hair, which now was more than three-fourths gray, though Mollie was only thirty-one. “Two lovely children, and the kindest, best husband in the world,—the man I loved and wanted so much, and who I think, likes me, and will miss me some when I am gone forever.” This she said, looking straight at Beatrice, whose face was very pale as she stooped to kiss the white forehead and answered: “I am sure he will miss you, and so shall I, for I have learned to love you so much, and shall be so sorry when you are gone.”