"P'ease, daddy," pleaded Marian presently, "Ma-an _must_ see mammy. Dere's such pitty fings in se shops, and me 'ants to do with mammy to see dem--in morning." The shops were already displaying their Christmas decorations. Marian's father gave a great gasp. "Marian shall see mammy now," he said solemnly, as he rose from his stool still holding the child to his breast. "I'se so glad!" and she gave a little jump in his arms. "Good daddy!" "But father's little poppet must be quiet, and not talk, or cry." "No," said Marian with childhood's readiness to make a required promise. The child had not seen her mother since the previous day, and the altered face upon the pillow was so strange to her, that she half turned away, as though to hide her face upon her father's shoulder. The gleaming eyes of the dying mother were turned wistfully towards her child. "See, poppet; look at mammy!" urged the father, turning the little face towards the bed. "Mother's darling!" There was less change in the mother's voice than in her face; and the next moment the little dark head lay on the pillow, and the tiny, nut-brown hand was stroking the hollow cheek of the dying woman. "'oo is my mammy, isn't 'oo?" "Yes, darling; kiss mammy good-bye," was the heart-breaking answer. "Me tiss 'oo," said the child, suiting the action to the word; "but not dood-bye. Me see 'oo aden. Mammy, se shops is so bootiful! Will 'oo take Ma-an to see dem? 'nother day, yes 'nother day." "Daddy will take Marian to see the shops," said the dying mother, in labouring tones. "Mammy going to Jesus. Jesus will take care of mother's little lamb." The mother's lips were pressed in a last lingering kiss upon the face of her child, and then Marian was carried downstairs. When the child was gone, "Cobbler" Horn sat down by the bedside, and took and held the wasted hand of his wife. It was evident that the end was coming fast; and urgent indeed must be the summons which would draw him now from the side of his dying wife. Hour after hour he sat waiting for the great change. As the night crept on, he watched the deepening shadow on the beloved face, and marked the gathering signs which heralded the brief triumph of the king of terrors. There was but little talk. It could not be otherwise; for, every moment, utterance became more difficult to the dying wife. A simple, and affectionate question and answer passed now and then between the two. At infrequent intervals expressions of spiritual confidence were uttered by the dying wife; and these were varied with a few calmly-spoken directions about the child. From the husband came, now and then, words of tender encouragement, mingled with morsels of consolation from the good old Book, with, ever and anon, a whispered prayer.