"I have never seen anything really dead, mamma. Even the 'dead' birds,—why, the evening sky is full of
them—the little 'dead' ones I mean—flock after flock, twittering and singing—"
"Dear!"
"Yes, mamma."
"When you see me—that way—will you—speak?"
"Yes."
"Promise, darling."
"Yes.... I'll kiss you, too—if it is possible...."
"Would it be possible?"
The child gazed at her, perplexed and troubled: "I—don't—know," she said slowly. Then, all in a moment her childish face paled and she clung to her mother and began to cry.