Ada promised to be silent, and after winning a similar promise from Mrs. Lansing, they both fell asleep, nor woke again until the sun was high up in the heavens. So much for a sick-bed repentance! That day was hotter and more sultry than any which had preceded it; and about the middle of the afternoon little Jessie came to Dinah’s side and laying her head upon her lap complained of being both _cold_ and _tired_. Blankets were wrapped around her, but they brought to her no warmth, for her blood was chilled by approaching death, and when at dusk the negroes asked why she came not among them, they were told that she was dying! With streaming eyes they fell upon their knees, and from those humble cabins there went up many a fervent prayer for God to spare the child. But it could not be; she was wanted in heaven; and when old Uncle Abel, who had also been ill, crept on his hands and knees to her bedside, calling upon her name, she did not know him, for unconsciousness was upon her, and in infinite mercy she was spared the pain usually attendant upon the disease. Almost bereft of reason and powerless to act, Mrs. Lansing sat by her child, whose life was fast ebbing away. In a short time all the negroes, who were able, had come to the house, their dark faces stained with tears and expressive of the utmost concern, as they looked upon the little girl, who lay so white and still, with her fair hair floating over the pillow and her waxen hands folded upon her bosom. “Sing to me, Uncle Dick,” she said, at last, “sing of the Happy Land not far away;” but Uncle Dick was not there, and they who watched her were too much overcome with grief to heed her request. Slowly the hours wore on, and the spirit was almost home, when again she murmured, “Sing of the Happy Land;” and as if in answer to her prayer, the breeze, which all the day long had been hushed and still, now sighed mournfully through the trees, while a mocking-bird in the distance struck up his evening lay; and amid the gushing melody of that wondrous bird of song and the soft breathing notes of the whispering pines, little Jessie passed to the “Happy Land,” which to those who watched the going out of her short life, seemed, indeed, “not far away.” With a bitter cry the bereaved mother fell upon her face and wept aloud, saying, in her heart, “My God, my God, why have I thus been dealt with?” In the distance was heard the sound of horses’ feet, and ere long her brother was with her, weeping as only strong men weep, over the lifeless form which returned him no answering caress. She had been his idol, and for a moment he, too, questioned the justice of God in thus afflicting him. “Jessie is gone, Rosa is going, and I shall be left alone,” he thought. “What have I done to deserve a chastisement like this?”