"It depends on the time and place, and how old one is. I don't think people of my age ought to indulge themselves by giving way to grief in which the spectator cannot share. "'Bury _thy_ sorrow, let others be blest, Give them the sunshine, tell Jesus the rest.'" It was now Margaret's turn to feel humbled. "How could I forget, even for a moment, how you had been afflicted?" she cried, passionately. "But you are so strong, and so patient, and so cheerful, and hide your scars away so carefully, that it is hard to realize that you ever had a sorrow. But, aunty, what will Belle do if she loses Mabel?" "'She will behave and quiet herself as a child weaned of his mother.'" Just then the door opened, and Mabel came quietly in. Both were startled, for she rarely moved about the house now. She saw that they had been crying, and came and put an arm around each. "What makes everybody cry?" she asked. "Is anybody dead?" Even Margaret was astonished at the sunny smile with which Mrs. Grey instantly diverted the child's attention. "See," she said, opening a drawer, "what I forgot to give you at Christmas." Mabel looked in and saw a snow-white dove nestled there. "Oh!" she said, "when I get well I will dance for joy! Grandmamma, I am not so tired to-day as I was yesterday. May I hold my baby a little while and show him this lovely dove?" "You may try, darling." They carried her up to the nursery and put the baby in her arms, but she could not hold him, and burst into tears. They were the last she ever shed. The doctors came in the course of the day, and examined her from head to foot carefully. "Does your head ache even a little?" they asked. "No." "Where are you sick, then? Put your hand on the place, dear." "There isn't any place." "How are her nights?" "Very restless," said Belle, whose eye was reading every thought of the physicians, as if the faces they fancied so well-trained were open books. "She talks and moans in her sleep, and sometimes has painful dreams." Mabel, nearly as keen as her mother, though in a different way, detected a tender, almost mournful glance between her physicians, at this answer, and reached out a little hand to each. They had to fight to keep back the tears, as their fingers closed over her wasted ones. All her life the child had had these touching ways which it is not possible to describe; one of the secrets of the peculiar way in which she attracted every one.