Alice read the first line, and paused.
"There, now," said Ellen "what is a charge?"
"Don't you know that?"
"I think I do, but I wish you would tell me."
"Try to tell me first."
"Isn't it something that is given to one to do? I don't know exactly."
"It is something given one in trust to be done, or taken care of. I remember very well once, when I was about your age, my mother had occasion to go out for half an hour, and she left me in charge of my little baby sister; she gave me a charge not to let anything disturb her while she was away, and to keep her asleep if I could. And I remember how I kept my charge, too. I was not to take her out of the cradle, but I sat beside her the whole time; I would not suffer a fly to light on her little fair cheek; I scarcely took my eyes from her; I made John keep pussy at a distance; and whenever one of the little, round, dimpled arms was thrown out upon the coverlet, I carefully drew something over it again."
"Is she dead?" said Ellen, timidly, her eyes watering in sympathy with Alice's.
"She is dead, my dear; she died before we left England."
"I understand what a charge is," said Ellen, after a little; "but what is this charge the hymn speaks of? What charge have I to keep?"