Then they passed through another village, where the bells were ringing for afternoon service, and the sick woman listened to them very sorrowfully.
'I shall never go to church again, Rosalie darling,' she said.
'Oh, mammie,' said little Rosalie, 'don't talk like that! When you get better, we'll go together. We could easily slip into the back seats, where nobody would see us.'
'No, Rosalie,' said her mother; 'you may go, my darling, but I never shall.'
'Why not, mammie dear?'
'Rosalie,' said her mother, raising herself in bed and putting her arm round her child, 'don't you know that I am going to leave you? don't you know that in about a week's time you will have no mother?'
Rosalie hid her face in her mother's pillow and sobbed aloud.
'Oh, mammie, mammie dear!—mammie, don't say that! please don't say that!'
'But it's true, little Rosalie,' said her mother; 'and I want you to know it. I don't want it to take you by surprise. And now stop crying, darling, for I want to talk to you a bit; I want to tell you some things whilst I can speak.
'My poor, poor darling!' said the mother, as the child continued sobbing.