A Little Girl in Old New York

by Amanda M. Douglas

Margaret entered the room. "She wants to see you, Hanny," she said quietly. "And when she is stronger she would like the little girls to come again."

Hanny went into the chamber. Miss Lois was sitting up in the big rocker, but her face was as white as the pillow back of her head. And oh, how thin her hands were! strangely cold, too, for a summer day.

"I'm very glad you came again, little Hanny," she said. "I had been thinking of you and Margaret all day, and how good it was of your father and you to hunt me up as you did. You've given me a deal of happiness. Tell him I am thankful for all his kindness. Will you kiss me good-by, dear? I hope you'll be spared to be a great comfort to every one."

Hanny kissed her. The lips were almost as cold as the hands. And then she went out softly with a strange feeling she did not understand.

It was late enough then to go straight home. Dr. Joe had a little talk with his mother, and the next day he took her up to Harlem. The children went over to Daisy's in the afternoon and told her about "everything." Mrs. Jasper insisted upon keeping them to supper.

Her mother had not returned when the little girl went to bed. It seemed so strange the next morning without her. Margaret was very quiet and grave, so the little girl practised and sewed, and then read a while. In the afternoon her mother came home and said Miss Lois had gone to be with her sister and her long-lost friends in the other country.

A feeling of awe came over her. No one very near to her had died, and though she had not seen so very much of Miss Lois, for her mother had gone up quite often without her, the fact that she had been there so lately, had held her poor nerveless hand, had kissed her good-by in an almost sacred manner when she was so near death, touched her. Did she know? Hanny wondered. What was death? The breath went out of your body—and her old thoughts about the soul came back to her. It was so different when the world was coming to an end. Then you were to be caught up into heaven and not be put into the ground. She shrank from the horrible thought of being buried there, of being so covered that you never could get out. She decided that she would not so much mind if the world did come to an end.

"Margaret," she said, "was it dreadful for Miss Lois to die?"

"No, dear," returned her sister gently. "If we were all in another country, the beautiful heaven, and you were here all alone, would you not like to come to us? That was the way Miss Lois felt. It is so much better than living on here alone. And then when one gets old—no, dear, it was a pleasant journey to her. She had thought a great deal about it, and had loved and served God. This is what we all must do."

"Margaret, what must I do to serve Him?"