But even this duty and delight was taken from her, for that cold spring nipped the poor little flower, and one day Billy shut his blue eyes with a patient sigh and left her all alone. Then Lizzie’s heart seemed broken; and people thought she would soon follow him, now that her one care and comfort was gone. All day she lay with her cheek on Billy’s pillow, holding the battered tin cup and a little worn-out shoe, and it was pitiful to hear her sing the old lullabies as if baby still could hear them. "It will be a mercy if the poor thing does n’t live; blind folks are no use and a sight of trouble," said one woman to another as they gossiped in the hall after calling on the child during her mother’s absence, for the door was left unlocked since she was ill. "Yes, Mrs. Davis would get on nicely if she had n’t such a burden. Thank Heaven, my children are n’t blind," answered the other, hugging her baby closer as she went away. Lizzie heard them, and hoped with all her sad little soul that death would set her free, since she was of no use in the world. To go and be with Billy was all her desire now, and she was on her way to him, growing daily weaker and more content to be dreaming of dear baby well and happy, waiting for her somewhere in a lovely place called heaven. The summer vacation came; and hundreds of eager children were hurrying away to the mountains and seashore for two months of healthful pleasure. Even the dirty children in the lane felt the approach of berry-time, and rejoiced in their freedom from cold as they swarmed like flies about the corner grocery where over-ripe fruit was thrown out for them to scramble over. Lizzie heard about good times when some of these young neighbors were chosen to go on the poor children’s picnics, and came back with big sandwiches buttoned up in their jackets, pickles, peanuts, and buns in their pockets, hands full of faded flowers, and hearts brimming over with childish delight at a day in the woods. She listened with a faint smile, enjoyed the "woodsy" smell of the green things, and wondered if they had nice picnics in heaven, being sorry that Billy had missed them here. But she did not seem to care much, or hope for any pleasure for herself except to see baby again. I think there were few sadder sights in that great city than this innocent prisoner waiting so patiently to be set free. Would it be by the gentle angel of death, or one of the human angels who keep these little sparrows from falling to the ground?