"It was a pleasant evening; the candlelight seemed so bright to Lizzie's eyes, that hadn't seen any for so long a time, and her father was so cheerful. Yes, it was a pleasant evening; and they closed by reading the 103rd Psalm:—
"'Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name.
"'Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.'"
Sister Mary took up her book and went into the house, while the children gathered together on the steps to watch the sun that was now setting.
"Lizzie was a wonderfully good little girl, wasn't she," said Jack; "but then she was sick. I never knew any good people that weren't either sick or ugly."
"Why, Jack, there's sister Mary, and papa and mamma, and Miss Taylor, and—"
"Oh, I mean children. All the children I read about are good, and get ill, and die. I rather think Lizzie would have died if sister Mary had gone on with her story."
"It is so in books," said Belle; "they always die."
"People would not want to write about them if they lived," said Nannie.