Fru Boyesen pushed her aside and ran into the house and up to her mother's room. It was as Ingeborg had said, the old woman had quietly passed away. Her daughter-in-law, sitting in the room, had not seen when it happened,--she only noticed after a time that the place seemed unusually silent, as when a clock in a living-room stops its ticking, and going over to the bed, she saw that the old woman was no longer breathing. She felt for a pulse in vain, and a mirror held to the mouth remained unclouded, so she had drawn the sheet up over the still, white face and called the family. Ragna and Ingeborg followed their Aunt up the stairs and into the room. Lars Andersen stood by the bed, holding the dead woman's hand; his sister had thrown herself upon her knees beside him; at the foot of the bed stood Lotte and her mother, and by them Ragna took her place. Ingeborg stopped in the doorway, sobbing loudly with hysterical excitement, and also with honest grief, for she sincerely loved her grandmother. Lars Andersen turned in his place and in a low, stern voice reprimanded her. "Stop that boisterous sobbing, Ingeborg! I am ashamed of you! Go to your room until you can control yourself!" Ragna quietly slipped out and led the weeping child away--none of the others had even turned a head. "Oh, Ragna," sobbed Ingeborg, as they reached the little room with its dormer window, "isn't it dreadful? Only this morning I was sitting with her and she said the knitting hurt her eyes, and she would finish it to-morrow--and it was for me--and now she is de-e-ad--" her voice rose in a wail. Ragna took her into her arms, and sitting down, drew her on her knees. "Oh, Ingeborg," she said, "you mustn't cry so, indeed you mustn't! We ought to be glad she died peacefully like that. Of course it would have been awful if it had happened when you were alone with her this morning." "It isn't that, it isn't that at all," said Ingeborg, in an awed voice. "It's just dreadful that she should have been alive like you or me only an hour ago,--and now she is dead like a light when it is blown out. She was here and now she is gone--she's nowhere!" "Oh, Ingeborg, you shouldn't talk like that!" cried Ragna, shocked. "Her soul has gone to God in Heaven!" "Do you really believe that, Ragna?" asked the child. "I don't,--I don't care what they say. When Balke, my dog, died, I wanted to bury him and put up a tombstone, but the Pastor wouldn't let me; he said animals have no souls and Christian burial is only for people. Balke knew lots more than ever so many people; he had a great deal more soul than a baby. When do babies get their souls? I know they don't have them when they are born, they're too stupid,--and so when do they get them? I said if Balke wouldn't go to Heaven I didn't believe there was one at all, so there!" She sat up with flushed face and looked at her sister defiantly.