But Dot was not so fond of running about as she used to be. She had been very tired lately, and she would soon come back to him, and stand beside him at his work, talking to him in her pretty childish way.
He liked to hear her talk, and he was never dull when she was with him. She had taught him her little prayer, and old Solomon could say it as well as she could. As for Dot, it was seldom out of her thoughts, and Solomon often found her kneeling amongst the trees of the cemetery, and "asking the dear Lord Jesus," as she called praying.
But Dot's mother often sent for her in, for she noticed that her child was not well. She had a tiresome little cough, which often kept her awake by night, and distressed old Solomon by day. He walked into the town, poor old man, on purpose to buy her some lozenges, which he heard had cured a neighbour of his. He thought they might make his little dear's cold well.
But Dot's cough still continued, and grew worse instead of better. At last her father took her to a doctor, and he gave her some medicine, and said she must be kept warm. So Dot's mother kept her at home, and she could only kiss her hand to Solomon as he passed the window to his work. He came to see her in the evenings, for she fretted so much for him that her mother invited him to come as often as he could.
"Mr. Solemn," she said one day, "I know all about it now."
"About what, my dear?" asked the old man.
"About my little girl, and heaven, and Jesus, Mr. Solemn. Has He washed you, Mr. Solemn?"
"I don't know, my dear," he replied.
"Cause you can't go to heaven if He doesn't, Mr. Solemn."
"No, I suppose not," said the old man. "There's a many things in me as ought to be different—I know that, Dot."