“I want you to keep Fannie always with you, and let her be your little girl. She will be your comfort. The spirits want this, too; I think they sent me to her last summer, and they brought her to us. Please, mamma and papa, say she may always stay here with you.” “Yes, dear,” answered the father, “your mamma and I decided this some time ago. We can never part with the little one willingly. She is too precious to us, and she has been too dear to our little boy for us to let her go from us.” A smile of joy flashed over the child’s features; he was at rest now; nothing else could disturb him, for he was near the gates of the Summer-land. His little friend was to be cared for; that was all he could desire. With a loving kiss and grateful glance to his dear parents, he sank into a sweet and dreamless sleep. The March winds came and whistled around the old, stately house; the white snow still lay upon the ground. It had been an unusually cold winter; many poor souls had felt the biting blast; but little Fannie Davis, cared for by loving friends and guardian spirits, had been mercifully protected from all want and suffering. It was twilight,—the angel’s hour in that home of wealth and splendor. Mr. and Mrs. Hedge, good doctor May, the gentle old nurse, and little Fannie Davis were gathered around the couch of the child whose mortal life was fast ebbing away. But there was a far larger company gathered in that silent room,—angelic beings came to take the loved one home, and these the eyes of the child watched with solemn delight. Calmly, sweetly, gently, his soul passed out from the body, to be met by loving welcome, and borne to the blooming bowers of Summer-land, where all is beauty, gladness, and joy. Tender hands robed the little form of clay in garments of spotless white, adorned it with rare and fragrant flowers, and with many caresses and tears, consigned it to its last resting-place. But the little boy, Frankie, now glad and strong and free, still lived in a beautiful home, from which he could return to those he loved. Three days after the burial of the body, Mr. and Mrs. Hedge were seated together, conversing sadly of the late events. Little Fannie, who was present, seemed to pay no attention to their conversation; the poor child had grown strangely silent and sad of late, for she missed her little companion more than tongue can tell. Suddenly her form straightened, her eyes brightened, and a smile spread over her features. “Oh, Frankie, Frankie,” she exclaimed; “he is here—see! see! How good and bright he looks!” In a moment her eyes closed, her features changed, and passing to the side of the sofa, where the elder parties were seated, she embraced them fondly, and in Frankie’s well-known tones addressed them, telling of his pleasure, his beautiful home, how well and strong he had grown; telling of the dear ones with him, and expressing his delight at the opportunity of returning to his dear, dear parents.