"Well, ma'am, if you only would stay long enough by the child, you'd see it; it is awful to watch with her all alone."
"Afraid of a sick child," said Mrs. Markham, pouring out another cup of hyson.
"No, not the child exactly—Tibbs is a good little thing; but the sperrets, about the room. I do believe," said Timmins, solemnly, "that sperrets are all round these childern. You don't see things as I do, Mrs. Markham."
"I hope I don't," answered that lady, laughing, as she pushed back her empty cup. "A pretty matron I should make, filled with such fanciful whims; and a great while the committee would keep me."
"Perhaps so," answered Timmins. "Sometimes I think—"
"What?" asked Markham.
"And then again I don't know," said the perplexed Timmins; "but I must run back to Tibbs—if you only would look in on her, Mrs. Markham," said Timmins beseechingly, as she closed the door.
While the above conversation was passing, the film gathered slowly over little Tibbs's eyes; the feet and hands grew colder—colder; drops of moisture gathered on the marble temples; the lips moved, but no sound came; a convulsive spasm shook the slight form, and little Tibbs was dead! None stood by to hold the feeble hand, or wipe the gathering death-damp from the pale lips and brow. No warm breath was proof to the dimmed eye and dulled ear of Love's dear presence.
Tibbs died alone.