"Yes. Go up, she is anxious to have you with her, and I am sure I need not tell you to pay her all the attention in your power."
George did not wait to make any reply, but was, in an instant, by Sally's bed-side. But how great, how alarming, was the change that he saw in her from the time that he had last left her!
"Sally! dear Sally, I am come to thank you," said he. Sally raised her eyes and smiled on him affectionately. "How kind it was to give up your little pet to pay for my schooling. But, though I am going to school, you will still have Croppy to be kind to."
"Croppy will not be taken from me, but I shall soon be taken away from him. George, I am going to leave you all very soon."
"Oh! Sally, don't talk that way," said George, in a tone of extreme agitation. "What has the doctor been doing to frighten you so?"
"The doctor has not frightened me. He told me that he hoped he should make me well again, but I know better; I know that I am dying; but I am not frightened, for I know that I am going to a kind father. I am sorry to part with you all, especially you, George, but it must be, and we shall meet again soon."
"Oh, don't talk about dying, Sally," cried the afflicted boy, the tears streaming down his cheeks as he spoke, "don't talk about leaving us. I cannot bear to think of parting with you."
"George," said Sally, and an almost heavenly expression brightened her countenance as she spoke, "you have read a great deal, but your reading will be of little use if you have not learnt to know that it is our duty to submit with patience to the will of our Heavenly Father. I like to be with you, and am sorry to think of leaving you, but I know we shall meet again, and then there will be no more parting. But we will talk no more about it now. Mother is coming, and I don't want to distress her."
George looked at Sally, and tried to persuade himself that she was mistaken in imagining herself so ill. But the more he examined her countenance on which the indelible stamp of death was already impressed, the more he was convinced that she was right. From that moment, he scarcely quitted her bed-side, but watched over her, read portions of the scriptures to her whenever she was able to listen, and even prayed with her. Her composure and benignity were gradually communicated to his mind, so that though the one of all the family who was the most fondly attached to her, he was the only one who could view her approaching death with sufficient calmness to be able to listen to her when she talked about it. Short was the time, however, that he was called upon to exercise this self-command, for the vital torch was nearly extinguished, and her short, but innocent life, was nearly drawn to a close. George, whose affectionate offices seemed to become more and more grateful to her as the time approached nearer when she must resign them altogether, had sat up with her all night; and her mother, toward morning, was prevailed upon to go and take a little rest, under the assurance from Sally, that she did not need any thing that her brother could not do for her. Just as her mother left the room, the first beam of the morning sun glanced through the window. "Put out the lamp, George," said she, "and draw back the window curtain, that I may see the sun rise. It is the last time that I shall ever see it rise, and oh! it is a glorious sight. I should have been glad, if I had been permitted to live longer, for this world is beautiful, and I wanted to see you a wise and good man, but that I hope you will be, though I am not here to see it; and always remember me, George, and think how dearly I loved you. Raise me up a little, and put the pillows under my shoulders—there, that will do. Oh! George, I can't see! Take hold of my hand." George took her hand, she pressed his gently; and he watched, scarcely venturing to breathe, lest it should prevent him from hearing her words when she should next speak. But gradually he felt her hand relax from the pressure of his; he looked at her lips, but they were still; he put his face to her mouth, but no breath escaped from it; all was motionless. He was conscious that she was dead, but so sweet, so placid was the repose into which she was sunk, that he was unwilling to stir, lest he should destroy the heavenly feeling. How long he thus hung over her, he was himself unconscious; but when, at length, he was interrupted by the entrance of some of the family, he left the room, and hastened into the open air, as if unwilling to mingle the hallowed feelings which pervaded his mind with the more boisterous grief of the other members of the family.
Violent grief, for such a death, George felt to be impossible; and though he never ceased to think of her loss but with the most affectionate regret, his sorrow was so blended with the conviction that the change was a happy one for her, that it soon softened down to a holy and tender remembrance, which served only to stimulate his mind to virtue and piety; and the sweet proof that she had given so short a time before her death of her affection for him, made him cherish with grateful pleasure the recollection of the Pet Lamb.