"Poor thing! poor thing!" exclaimed Watkins, as she untied little Tibbs's night-dress to wash her thin limbs, "_her_ sufferings are over. I tell you, Timmins, there'll be a long reckoning for this some day. I had rather be Tibbs here than Mrs. Markham. She isn't a sparrow's weight," said Watkins, lifting the child. "Was she sensible when she died, Timmins?" "Don't ask me--don't ask me. Oh, Watkins, _could_ I help it? I ran down to speak to Mrs. Markham, and--and--" "She didn't die alone?" asked the horror-struck Watkins, laying the corpse back upon the pillow. Timmins nodded her head, and sat rocking her figure to and fro. "Now, don't say a word--don't say a word," said Timmins, "I know I shall be punished for it; but in deed I didn't mean no harm. I can't stay much longer in this house, Watkins." Watkins made no reply, except by slow shakes of the head, as she drew on the little charity night-dress which was to answer for a shroud, smoothed the soft silken hair, and folded the small hands over the weary little heart. "Do you know a prayer, Watkins?" asked Timmins, looking at the dead child. "I know 'Our Father,'" replied Watkins, smoothing a fold in the shroud. "Say it," said Timmins, reverently; "it won't do _her_ no good, but it will _me_." "Our Father----" "Got all through?" asked Mrs. Markham, throwing open the door; "that's all right. Now spread the sheet over her face--open the window--lock the door, and give me the key." "Won't you come in, ma'am, and look at the child?" asked Watkins, stepping one side. "No, it don't signify; you washed her and all that, I suppose. Come out, Timmins; and you, Watkins, run for the undertaker--the sooner the child is taken away the better; it is not healthy to have a corpse in the house," and Mrs. Markham applied her smelling-salts to her nose. Watkins tied on her bonnet, and went sorrowfully down street for the undertaker. CHAPTER VI. Mr. Pall prided himself on the reverent manner in which he performed his necessary funereal duties. He always dressed in black, and sat, handkerchief in hand, in the middle of his coffin ware-room, in a prepared state of mind to receive customers. He had every variety of coffin--from plain pine-wood up to the most polished mahogany and rosewood. His latest invention was "the casket," daintily lined throughout with white satin, and the lid so constructed as to expose the whole person instead of the face only, as in more common coffins. This was what Mr. Pall called "a dress coffin," and was perfectly consistent with any variety of adornment in the shroud that the fancy of grief-stricken affection might suggest.