"I am afraid, dear Fleda," Mrs. Plumfield said, after a pause, "it isn't best for us always to be without sad things though I cannot bear to see your dear little face look sad but it wouldn't fit us for the work we have to do it wouldn't fit us to stand where I stand now, and look forward happily."
"Where you stand?" said Fleda, raising her head.
"Yes, and I would not be without a sorrow I have ever known. They are bitter now, when they are present but the sweet fruit comes after."
"But what do you mean by 'where you stand?' "
"On the edge of life."
"You do not think so, aunt Miriam!" Fleda said, with a terrified look. "You are not worse?"
"I don't expect ever to be better," said Mrs. Plumfield, with a smile. "Nay, my love," she said, as Fleda's head went down on her bosom again "not so! I do not wish it either, Fleda. I do not expect to leave you soon, but I would not prolong the time by a day. I would not have spoken of it now if I had recollected myself; but I am so accustomed to think and speak of it, that it came out before I knew it. My darling child, it is nothing to cry for."
"I know it, aunt Miriam."
"Then don't cry," whispered aunt Miriam, when she had stroked
Fleda's head for five minutes.
"I am crying for myself, aunt Miriam," said Fleda. "I shall be left alone."