“Let us hurry home. Let us be ready,” whispered Mrs. Pitcher.
There was not the least color in her face, but her husband knew she would not faint. A mother has no time to faint when she is waiting to hear whether her children are alive or dead.
I don’t know why; but the judge was thinking of Posy, and fancying, if any of his children were lost, it would be this darling of the family.
He was right. All the rest were safe; but dear little Posy was brought home on cushions, her sweet eyes closed, and their golden fringe quite still against the white cheeks. The faded rosebud on her bosom did not stir: her heart had ceased beating.
It was the loveliest, sweetest, saddest sight. Papa wept, and wrung his hands; but there were no tears in mamma’s eyes as she knelt beside her darling.
“O God! she isn’t dead yet; don’t let her die! She isn’t dead yet; don’t let her die!”
That was what mamma said again and again, with her hand upon Posy’s heart.
“Lemme kiss her! She’s my twin-sister,” cried frantic Pollio, springing away from Nanty, who tried to hold him. “I shall die if you don’t lemme kiss her.”
“Hush!” whispered his mother, with a wonderful light in her eyes, “her heart flutters! Go away, everybody: leave her to papa and me.”