Nurse arose mechanically, and brought her a glass of water. "I wish I knew," she said, "how Alick is this morning?"
"Hush, child! he's just gone. His mother, poor thing, was with him till three, when she went home to wash for an hour or two. I'm afraid he'll be off before she gets back, and that'll just about break her heart."
At this minute, there arose from the next room, a sound, low, but inexpressibly sweet and touching. It was the voice of the dying boy, singing with clear, distinct articulation, the words of the beautiful hymn,—
"I want to be an angel,
And with the angels stand,—
A crown upon my forehead,
A harp within my hand.
"There, right before my Saviour,
So glorious and so bright,
I'd wake the sweetest music