"Did any one ever die whom you loved?" asked Mary.
Rose's lip quivered, the tears gathered slowly in her eyes, and hung trembling on her lashes, as she nodded her little head.
"Who, my darling?" asked Mary, drawing the child nearer to her.
"My mother, my own dear mother!" said the weeping child, drawn to her kind questioner by the mutual sympathy of sorrow.
"Rose—Rose—Rose!" screamed the shrill voice of Dolly from over the wall.
"Oh, I must go! indeed I must; please don't tell, please don't say any thing," and Rose, hastily wiping away her tears, ran breathlessly toward the little wicket-gate.
"Now I'd just like to know, miss, where you have been without leave?" asked Dolly.
"Daffy told me you wanted me to go out of sight till after the company was gone," said Rose, "and I thought I would just step over into the church-yard, and put some daisies on the baby's grave."
"Ridikilis!" exclaimed Dolly; "just as if that baby knew what was top of it; it is perfectly disgusting—you are just like your mother exactly. Now go along into the house."
Rose entered the back parlor and sat down at the little window to her work.