So I took him in my arms in the big rocking-chair and sang all the heaven hymns I know. First, “There’s a Home for Little Children,” then “Jerusalem the Golden,” and, “I heard a sound of voices Around the great white throne, With harpers harping on their harps To Him that sits thereon.” When I came to that last beautiful verse, “O Lamb of God Who reignest! Thou Bright and Morning Star, Whose glory lightens that new earth Which now we see from far! O worthy Judge eternal! When Thou dost bid us come, Then open wide the gates of pearl, And call Thy servants home,” the thought flashed through me, “What if God should really take Robin from us,—him, too, as well as father!” And I stopped singing, and hugged him tight, and hurt his little, aching back! “What’s the matter, Elizabeth?” asked Bobsie, fretfully. “I was just going to sleep.” “Nothing, honey,” I answered. But that night after I had gone to bed the terror returned, and I could not get any peace or rest. I could not say my prayers right, either, for it seemed as if heaven were full of harping, and singing voices, and God would not hear. So I tossed and turned, till finally I woke Ernie. “What’s the matter, Elizabeth?” she asked, just as Robin had. “Oh, Ernie,” I answered. “I’m so unhappy! I’ve been thinking that perhaps Bobsie is going to die.” “Well, of course we’re all going to some day,” answered Ernie, sleepily. But she slipped her hand into mine like a cuddlesome kitten, and somehow I felt comforted. Dr. Porter says that what Robin needs is “all the luxuries.” That is, to go away in the summer to the seashore or mountains, to have good nourishing food, proper clothing, and plenty of fresh air all the year round, and neither to be overstimulated nor worried. Nice possible prescription, _that_! Uncle George means to do what is right, I am sure; but, oh, why can’t he say,— “Here is $5,000. Take it, and make Robin well.” If it were Georgie who was ill! That reminds me that Geof was in this afternoon, quite sulky and injured because he had to go to the opera this evening. “Meta has a friend staying with her,” he explained. “And they prance round and see everything. That’s all right; but why do they have to lug me along?” “Poor Geof,” purred Ernie, who is always sympathetic. “What is it going to be?” “Oh, I don’t know,” answered Geoffrey. “They’re all the same. A fellow in pink pants gets up and bellows at the top of his lungs,—‘_Ish leap a dish!_’ The lady answers to the same tune, only shriller, and then they both die. Giddy show that!” We could not help laughing; but how I wish I were going in Geof’s place!