“Just a tear or two, my boy. What makes you ask?” Charley was nearly fifteen, and old enough to have been made anxious by one or two things he had heard and seen of late. “Were you crying about Winnie? Mamma, is there anything the matter with Winnie?” “Your little sister is in a very precarious state of health, Charley.” “I know, mamma, she is pale and thin and weak; but she was much worse last winter.” “She _seemed_ to be worse, my boy.” “Mamma, mamma!” cried Charley anxiously, “you don’t mean--Oh, mamma, she isn’t--” The boy could not say the words, but his eyes spoke his meaning plainly enough. Mrs. Digby’s tears fell for a moment fast and freely; but then they were checked, and she answered steadily: “We are in God’s hands, dear Charley, and our precious little child is under His care. He may be willing to spare her to us a little longer. We may all pray and even hope; God’s ways are not our ways, and He is very merciful.” Charley’s face grew pale. He saw by his mother’s looks how little hope she had. “Mamma!” he cried; “Oh, mamma!” “Dear Charley,” she said tenderly, “we must all be brave; we may still pray to God to spare our darling, only we must pray first ‘Thy will be done.’” The boy choked and a lump rose in his throat; then he commanded his voice and asked: “What does Dr. Howard say?” “He says that--that--he thinks Winifred cannot get any better.” There was silence after this, and then the boy said more slowly and calmly: “Does Winnie know?” “I do not know how much; but from what she says I feel sure she knows something.” “It was her talk to-day made me begin to think,” said the boy with a tearless sob. “Oh mamma, she is such a dear Winnie; and she talks just as if she were going away.” “My poor Charley, we shall all miss our sweet little girl; but, dear boy, we must remember where she has gone, and Who has taken her.” The boy sobbed on still. “She will never come back any more.” “No, Charley--could we really wish her back? She will not come to us; but we may go to her. That must then be more than ever the aim of our lives.” “Yes, yes,” said the boy; and by-and-by he asked in a whisper, “When?” “Ah, Charley, I ask that question every day. Sometimes I think it will not be very long after the swallows go.” CHAPTER VII. WINIFRED’S PARTY. Winifred’s tea-party was a great success. Preparations for it occupied the child’s mind for the three days previous to the important Saturday, and by the time the day had arrived nothing had been neglected which she thought could add to the enjoyment of the expected guests. They had arrived punctual to the appointed hour, and had had fine games in the garden and meadows, which Winifred and Violet had watched from the nursery window.