After they had finished their supper, aunt Madge said, "You may all follow me into the nursery; I have something to tell you.—Our dear little pale baby, who has been sick day and night all this long summer, will never feel sick or cry any more. God has taken him to heaven to be a little angel."
All but Prudy knew that she spoke of death. Grace flung herself on the floor and wept aloud. Horace rushed up stairs into the back chamber, without saying a word to any body; and Susy buried her face in the sofa-pillows, whispering, "O God, don't let it be so; it isn't true, is it?"
But Prudy only opened her blue eyes in wonder. When she saw the pure little form of the baby lying on the bed, in a soft crimson dress, she smiled and said,—
"O, he looks as if he was asleep, and he is asleep!"
"But see, he doesn't breathe," whispered Susy.
"No," said Prudy, "he don't breathe because he don't want to. He was sick, and it made him too tired to breathe so much."
Why every body should weep was more than Prudy could tell; but she thought it must be right to do as the rest did, and by bedtime she was sobbing as if her heart would break. She afterwards said to Susy,—
"I tried as hard as I could to cry, and when I got to crying I cried as tight as I could spring!"
But when aunt Madge wanted to put Prudy to bed she was unwilling to go. "O, no," said she, "I want to wait and see the baby go up!"
"See what?" said aunt Madge.