"Has she a mother?" asked the doctor.
The words caught Mignon's ear. She looked up. "Mamma," she said—"Mamma! Did you make the music?" Her head fell back, she closed her eyes.—That was all.
"She loved music so dearly," said one of the women weeping.
"She has it now," replied the good old doctor, laying down the little hand from which the pulse had ebbed away. "Don't cry so over her, my good girl. She was a tender flower for such a life as this. Depend upon it, it is better as it is. Heaven is a home-like place for such little ones as she, and the angels' singing will be sweeter to her ears than the music of your brass band."
LADY QUEEN ANNE.
"WHERE is Annie?" demanded old Mrs. Pickens.
"I'm sure I don't know. Not far away, for I heard her voice just now singing in the woods near the house."