"You are right," said the young lady, quite seriously; "have everything she has owned or loved packed up at once."
Mrs. Pierce went out muttering; the child followed her with a finger in her mouth.
"Now," said the young lady, "is there anything else you would like to take away,—a bird, a little dog, or the cat you have loved; we can find room for them?"
My heart leaped. I had the dear old canary-bird; and lying upon the crimson cushions of my mother's easy-chair was "Fanny," a pretty chestnut-colored dog, that had all the grace of an Italian greyhound, and the brightness of a terrier.
"May I take her with me?" I cried, springing up and falling on my knees before my mother's arm-chair, and hugging Fanny to my bosom. "I am so glad, so grateful, so—"
Here I broke down, and burying my face in Fanny's fur, cried and laughed out my thankfulness. When I looked up, one of the handsomest men I ever saw stood by the young lady, who was smiling upon him, though I saw bright tears in her eyes.
"So this is your father's ward," said the gentleman, reaching out his hand as if he had known me all his life.
I put my hand in his, and felt my heart grow warm, as if it had found shelter from its loneliness. He exchanged glances with the lady, and I felt sure that they were pleased with me.
"Now," said the gentleman, "we have a little time, if you want to take leave of anything."
"Oh, I have been taking leave ever since she died," I answered, saddened by his words. "I couldn't do it again."