"If she dies without knowing us again, it will break my heart," said Hoodie's mother to the doctor; and what could he say, poor man, but shake his head sorrowfully in sympathy? They tried to prevent Maudie knowing how ill Hoodie was, but it was impossible. When people are ill, or recovering from illness, they seem to guess things in a way that is sometimes quite astonishing, and so it was with Maudie. She was now much better--she had been half-dressed and lifted on to a sofa in her own room some days ago, but when she found out about Hoodie, she fretted so dreadfully that it threatened to make her ill again. "Oh, do let me see her!" she cried. "I don't mind if she's too ill to know me. I don't mind if she can't speak to me, but I must see her. Poor Hoodie, dear little Hoodie," she went on, the tears streaming down her face. "Oh, mamma, I don't think I was always very kind to her. I used to tell her we'd be happier without her, but I _do_ love her. Oh, do let me see her!" For unfortunately, through hearing some of the servants talking, Maudie knew some part of what Hoodie had been saying in her unconsciousness, and it was this that was distressing her so greatly. Oh, children dear, remember this--there is no pain so terrible, no suffering so without comfort, as the feeling sorrow _too late_ for unkindness or want of tenderness to others--little sharp words which did not seem so bad at the time, careless or selfish neglect of the wishes we could have gratified with just a little trouble--how they all rise up _afterwards_ and refuse to be forgotten! Our grief may then exaggerate our past unkindness perhaps, and, as is the way with our weak human nature, things out of our reach seem of double value; the affection we knew to be always at hand we never prized enough till we lost it. But should we not take this as a warning? Avoid the _habit_ of small unkindnesses, of sharp, hurting words--even though in your heart you do not mean them. Try, my darlings, every hour and every day, to behave to each other as you would wish to have behaved, were this day to be your last together. Then indeed even the sore parting of death would lose half its bitterness--the kingdom of Heaven would already have begun in your own hearts--the happy kingdom where there is neither sorrow nor bitterness, nor tears--the kingdom over which reigns the beautiful Spirit of Love.