"Bend closer, darling, my voice is becoming so weak that you cannot hear! I am so sorry that I did not do as your father said, and have never taught you of Jesus, and now it is--too late!--I'm glad--the lady--told you.--Yes,--He paid--the fare!--I'm--going--to move--now--to that--beautiful land!" "Oh, mother," sobbed Rosa, beginning to realize a little of the import of her words, "please, oh, please don't leave me! What could I ever do without you? Nobody loves me but you and grandpa, and I just can't stand it, if you go away." With her last atom of strength, the dying mother kissed her child, whispering just so that Rosa could hear: "Find someone--to tell you--the way,--and come--to that--beautiful--land--where you will--find Jesus--and mother!" So calmly did she fall back upon her pillow that Rosa, though awe-struck, thought she was sleeping. Still clasping the thin hand, she noticed the chill. Cautiously, lest she might disturb the sleeper, she slipped off her little flannel skirt, the last article made by her mother, and wrapped the cold hands within its folds. The scant coverings she also tucked up more closely and put their last bit of coal upon the fire. Till midnight she sat by the bed, wondering why mother was so very still, and why she was growing so cold. At last, being able to endure the suspense no longer, stepping across the hall, she called for Mrs. Gray. "Land sakes, child, why ain't you in bed this time of night?" "Please, Mis' Gray, I'd like to borrow a comfort, 'cause mother's so awful cold, and I can't get her warm." "Well, when a body's as accommodatin' as I am, I 'spose they must expect to be bothered any time of day or night, too. I'll git up and see what your ma wants. Glad of one thing, she ain't kept me awake by her coughin' tonight, anyway; but it comes from me fixin' her a decent supper, I reckon." Mrs. Gray stepped to the door of Mrs. Browning's room, but something impelled her to stop. A fear seized her, while involuntarily she clutched Rosa's trembling hand. There was no light in the room, save that which shone from across the hall, the faint rays falling directly over the motionless form upon the bed. "Mis' Browning," she cautiously asked, "do you want anything?" "Mother doesn't hear, Mis' Gray," said Rosa sobbing violently and throwing herself within the cold arms, kissing over and over the lips hitherto so responsive to her own. "Mother dear, don't you hear me? Oh, wake up, please do! I want you so. I don't know the way, and will get lost to go alone." "Rosa," said Mrs. Gray almost gently, "git up and go and stay with grandpa till I tell you to come in here, and don't you come before. I'll have to go down them steps ag'in fer an undertaker." "What is an undertaker, Mis' Gray, and what do they do? Will they take mother to the beautiful land?"