“Yes, darling, I see what you mean.”
“I am glad that it has not been too easy, and that I have really tried for once not to be selfish. I don’t want to get well, Bessie. I should have all the old, miserable feelings over again. I have been ‘Little Miss Much-Afraid’ all my life, and the fears have been a part of me. Do you recollect what Bunyan said about Much-Afraid? ‘She went through the river singing;’ that was because she had left all her fears and troubles on the bank.”
“And you are not afraid to die, Hatty?”
“No, not really afraid. Sometimes in the night, when I lie awake with that strange oppression, I think how strange it will be without you all, and to have only the angels to talk to me. But I suppose I shall get used to it. I always say that psalm over to myself, and then the queer feeling leaves me. Don’t you know? ‘He shall give His angels charge over thee. They shall bear thee up in their hands.’ That verse gives one such a restful feeling; just as though one were a little child again.”
“Dear Hatty, you will be in that city where ‘the inhabitants shall not say, I am sick, and they that dwell therein shall be forgiven their iniquity.’ You will be where Jesus is.
‘Peace, perfect peace with loved ones far away!
In Jesus’ keeping we are safe—and they.’
It does me good to hear you; but you must not talk any more, your voice is so weak. Let me repeat one of your favorite hymns, and then perhaps you will get drowsy.” And then Hatty consented to be silent.
After all, the end came very suddenly, just when it was least expected. Hatty had seemed better that day; there was a strange flicker of life and energy; she had talked much to her mother and Bessie, and had sent a loving, playful message to Tom, who was away from home.
It had been her father’s custom to take the early part of the night-watch, and then to summon one of the others to relieve him. He had persisted in this, in spite of long, laborious days. Hatty was very dear to her father’s heart, and he loved those quiet hours beside her. Bessie had retired to bed early, as it was her turn to be roused, but long before the usual hour her mother was beside her.
“Come, my child, come; do not wait to dress, Hatty is going home fast.”