"'Tis train time, ma'am. Come!" A look of joy came over her face. "I am ready," she whispered. "Then give me your pass, ma'am." She reached him a worn old book, which he took, and from it read aloud:-- "Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest." "That's the pass over our road, ma'am. Are you ready?" The light died away, and darkness fell in its place. My hand touched the stroke of one. Simmons awoke with a start and snatched his lantern. The whistle sounded down brakes; the train was due. He ran to the corner and shook the old woman. "Wake up, marm; 'tis train time." But she never heeded. He gave one look at the white set face, and, dropping his lantern, fled. The up train halted, the conductor shouted "All aboard," but no one made a move that way. The next morning, when the ticket agent came, he found her frozen to death. They whispered among themselves, and the coroner made out the verdict "apoplexy," and it was in some way hushed up. But the last look on the sweet old face, lit up with a smile so unearthly, I keep with me yet; and when I think of the occurrence of that night, I know she went out on the other train, that never stopped at the poorhouse. THE PANSY ANONYMOUS Of all the bonny buds that blow, In bright or cloudy weather, Of all the flowers that come and go, The whole twelve moons together, This little purple pansy brings, Thoughts of the sweetest, saddest things. I had a little lover once, Who used to give me posies; His eyes were blue as hyacinths, His lips were red as roses; And everybody loved to praise His pretty looks and winsome ways. The girls that went to school with me Made little jealous speeches, Because he brought me royally His biggest plums and peaches, And always at the door would wait, To carry home my books and slate. They couldn't see--with pout and fling-- "The mighty fascination About that little snub-nosed thing, To win such admiration; As if there weren't a dozen girls With nicer eyes and longer curls!" And this I knew as well as they, And never could see clearly Why, more than Marion or May, I should be loved so dearly. So once I asked him, why was this; He only answered with a kiss; Until I teased him: "Tell me why, I want to know the reason." Then from the garden-bed close by (The pansies were in season) He plucked and gave a flower to me, With sweet and simple gravity. "The garden is in bloom," he said, "With lilies pale and slender, With roses and verbenas red, And fuchsias' purple splendor; But over and above the rest, This little heart's-ease suits me best."