I went home, and told my mother what had passed; and she went, with some others, to prepare the body for burial. I went to look upon it once more, the morning of the funeral. The features had assumed a rigid aspect, but the placid smile was still there. The hands were crossed upon the breast; and as the form lay so still and calm in its snowy robes, I almost wished that the last change might come upon me, so that it would bring a peace like this, which should last for evermore. I went to the Bible, and took from it that letter. Curiosity was strong within me, and I opened it. It was signed "John L.," and dated from his prison the night before his execution. But I did not read it. O no! it was too sacred. It contained those words of penitence and affection over which her stricken heart had brooded for years. It had been the well-spring from which she had drunk joy and consolation, and derived her hopes of a reunion where there should be no more shame, nor sorrow, nor death. I could not destroy that letter: so I laid it beneath the clasped hands, over the heart to which it had been pressed when its beatings were forever stilled; and they buried her, too, in the corner of the churchyard; and that tattered paper soon mouldered to ashes upon her breast. * * * * We have now a bell upon our new meeting-house; and when I hear its Sabbath morning peal, my thoughts are subdued to a tone fitting for sacred worship; for my mind goes back to that old couple, whom I was wont to call "the first bells;" and I think of the power of religion to hallow and strengthen the affections, to elevate the mind, and sustain the drooping spirit, even in the saddest and humblest lot of life. SUSANNA. [Illustration: Decoration] EVENING BEFORE PAY-DAY. CHAPTER I. "To-morrow is pay-day; are you not glad, Rosina, and Lucy? _Dorcas_ is, I know; for she always loves to see the money. Don't I speak truth _now_, Miss Dorcas Tilton?" "I wish you would stop your clack, Miss Noisy Impudence; for I never heard you speak anything that was worth an answer. Let me alone, for I have not yet been able to obtain a moment's time to read my tract." "'My tract'--how came it 'my tract,' Miss Stingy Oldmaid?--for I can call names as fast as you," was the reply of Elizabeth Walters. "Not because you bought it, or paid for it, or gave a thank'ee to those who did; but because you lay your clutches upon every thing you can get without downright stealing." "Well," replied Dorcas, "I do not think I have clutched any thing now which was much coveted by anyone else." "You are right, Dorcas," said Rosina Alden, lifting her mild blue eye for the first time towards the speakers; "the tracts left here by the monthly distributors are thrown about, and trampled under foot, even by those who most approve the sentiments which they contain. I have not seen anyone take them up to read but yourself."