And she sighed as she looked at the fragile little figure, and thought how very likely it was that she should be called upon to part with this tender blossom that had become so very dear to her, and the brightness and sunshine of their home. And try as she would, she could not keep back her tears at the thought of parting with her, even though it was to become like the angels she was so fond of talking about. It was a favorite subject with Milly to say she would be an angel and take care of somebody. Sometimes it was Bob, or Jack, and sometimes the widow herself. And these talks of the child always made her think she would be early taken to another world. But the widow never glanced at the possibility of its being her own death that would thus separate them. She had been unable to walk for several years, but her general health was good, and she looked forward to spending some years yet on the low truckle bed, and do what she could for the comfort of her two boys. She was saying this to a neighbor one day—it was not often they had a visit from any one, for the nearest cottage was some distance from their own, and so it was a treat for the widow to have some one to talk to. The woman looked at her keenly as she spoke, and asked if she felt quite well. "I have been until now, but I can't say that I feel too well to-day, though it's nothing to complain of, only a little pain here," and she laid her hand upon her heart. "You'd better let one of the boys get you some medicine, if it don't get better," said her friend. The widow smiled. She had little faith in medicine, and did not believe it would do her any good now. "I'll get some herb-tea made to-morrow," she said, and resolved to pay no more heed to the troublesome pain in her side. But something in her appearance made her friend far less easy about the matter. And as she was leaving, she contrived to draw Jack on one side and tell him her fears concerning his mother. The boy started, and looked towards the bed through the open doorway. "Do you think she's ill?" he said anxiously. "Hush! Don't let her hear what we are talking about. Yes, I am afraid she is ill, or going to be ill. If she does not seem better to-morrow, if she still has the pain in her side, send Bob down for me, and I'll come up and persuade her to have the doctor. Mind you send early," she added, as she turned up the little path leading from the sea-shore to the village. Jack felt anxious and alarmed as the woman left him. But when he went back to the cottage and saw his mother's placid face, looking perhaps a trifle paler, but otherwise just the same as usual, his fears subsided, and he felt sure it was all a mistake—his mother was not going to be ill. The boy was right too. The widow was not going to be ill, she was going to that land where there is neither sickness nor sorrow. She had even reached the borders of it, although she knew it not.