"O Matildy, I wish I could do something for you! I want to help you so. I feel so bad that I didn't come before. Ain't they somethin'?" "Yes, Marthy--jest set there--till I die--it won't be long," whispered the pale lips. The sufferer, as usual, was calmer than her visitor, and her eyes were thoughtful. "I will! I will! But oh! must you go? Can't somethin' be done. Don't yo' want the minister to be sent for?" "No, I'm all ready. I ain't afraid to die. I ain't worth savin' now. O Marthy! I never thought I'd come to this--did you? I never thought I'd die--so early in life--and die--unsatisfied." She lifted her head a little as she gasped out these words with an intensity of utterance that thrilled her hearer--a powerful, penetrating earnestness that burned like fire. "Are you satisfied?" pursued the steady lips. "My life's a failure, Marthy--I've known it all along--all but my children. O Marthy, what'll become o' them? This is a hard world." The amazed Martha could only chafe the hands, and note sorrowfully the frightful changes in the face of her friend. The weirdly calm, slow voice began to shake a little. "I'm dyin', Marthy, without ever gittin' to the sunny place we girls--used to think--we'd git to, by an' by. I've been a-gittin' deeper 'n' deeper--in the shade--till it's most dark. They ain't been no rest--n'r hope f'r me, Marthy--none. I ain't----" "There, there! Tillie, don't talk so--don't, dear. Try to think how bright it'll be over there----" "I don't know nawthin' about over there; I'm talkin' about here. I ain't had no chance here, Marthy." "He will heal all your care----" "He can't wipe out my sufferin's here." "Yes, He can, and He will. He can wipe away every tear and heal every wound." "No--he--can't. God himself can't wipe out what has been. O Mattie, if I was only there!--in the past--if I was only young and purty agin! You know how tall I was! how we used to run--O Mattie, if I was only there! The world was all bright then--wasn't it? We didn't expect--to work all our days. Life looked like a meadow, full of daisies and pinks, and the nicest ones and the sweetest birds was just a little ways on--where the sun was--it didn't look--wasn't we happy?" "Yes, yes, dear. But you mustn't talk so much." The good woman thought Matilda's mind was wandering. "Don't you want some med'cine? Ain't your fever risin'?" "But the daisies and pinks all turned to weeds," she went on, waiting a little, "when we picked 'em. An' the sunny place--has been always behind me, and the dark before me. Oh! if I was only there--in the sun--where the pinks and daisies are!" "You mustn't talk so, Mattie! Think about your children. You ain't sorry y' had them. They've been a comfort to y'. You ain't sorry you had 'em."