Winifred lay silent after that; it tired her now to talk even a little. The sunset was very bright that evening, and the swallows were making a great twittering; myriads there seemed of them now, gathered in the water-meadows, and there seemed an unusual bustle amongst them on this particular night. “They will soon be going now,” Winnie said half-aloud, and her mother answered gently: “Very soon now, my darling.” Mother and child looked at one another, and Winnie smiled. These two did not need to talk of what was in their inmost hearts, they understood without words. Every morning when the blind first went up, the child had said, “Have the swallows gone yet?” and when she heard the answer she would say, “I am glad; I feel as if I should miss them.” A good many people came in to kiss Winnie that night, and she said “good-bye” to them all, not “good-night,” though she could hardly have told why. Papa and mamma stayed on, and nurse; and Dr. Howard seemed to come in the middle of the night. “Mamma,” said Winifred once, “I am very happy, I haven’t any pain--I’m so glad God takes care of little things--swallows, you know--and children. He will take care of me, I know.” “My darling is not afraid to go to Him, then?” asked the mother very gently. “Oh no--not now.” Talking was very hard, her tongue seemed heavy, and only whispers came from between the parted lips. A strange singing filled the child’s ears. Father and mother bent over the little one and kissed her, oh, so tenderly and so lovingly!--but they did not cry. Winnie was glad that they did not cry. “Into Thy Hands, O most loving Father--” Was it her father’s voice speaking thus? The child thought so, but could not tell, for a rushing sound as of many wings seemed to fill the air drowning the voice that still spoke in solemn tones. “The swallows!” she tried to say--“the swallows--they are going--at last--” but with that strange rushing of wings mingled another and a sweeter sound, that made Winnie clasp her hands and look up with a smile on her little white face. “It is my angel--come for me--I am not afraid to go--now. Did God send you for me, angel?--I am ready.” In the morning there were no swallows in the water-meadows--they had all flown away in the night; and one little blood washed soul had flown in at Heaven’s wide gate to rest for evermore in the care of the Heavenly Father, who watches over little helpless things, and thinks no child that trusts His love too small or weak to be taken in to the eternal Home at last. THE END. THE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL. CHAPTER I. A LITTLE MATCH-SELLER.