While he blessed God that she had been given to make him the man he was, he asked for no other in her place.
“But you must stay, Waify. I couldn’t be happy without you.”
“No, papa, I must go to ask God about my mamma, and perhaps I’ll come back and tell you.”
How little do children know of the land from whence there is no return!
The day looked for, dreaded, came.
“Where’s the ‘C,’ papa?”
Clasping this tightly with one hand and Mortimer’s with the other, looking sadly at the tears upon his cheeks, then joyfully out into the space, she said, “Kiss Waify!” and was dead.
Giles Mortimer’s heart was mangled. The only thing he loved was taken.
There was a quiet gathering, and then he, with the sexton, took the little one to the cave, dug a grave under the daisies in the very centre of the garden, put a little tablet above it, and upon it the large marble “C” that stood for cave, and went back to his duties to work faithfully because her memory was something like her presence. The house was desolate, but sacred because Waify had been there. Business was interesting because entered upon for her; life was blessed because she had lived. Prosperity came to him. He loved other children, but there was only one Waify.