"Am I not going to my Father in Heaven?" she whispered, as she gazed earnestly upon her mother's face.
"Yes, dearest, yes," was the almost inaudible reply.
"And will the good angels watch over me, and be to me as a mother?" again asked the child.
"Far, far better than any earthly parent, my dear one."
A radiant smile illumined the countenance of the dying child. The fond words of her mother were sweet music to her ear.
The father approached, and bent over her.
"My little Eva," he whispered, "will you not speak to me?"
"I love you, dear father," was the earnest answer, "and when I am in Heaven I will pray for you, and for my poor mother;" and again those speaking eyes were riveted upon the mother's face, as if she would read her inmost griefs.
The physician entered, and, in the vain hope of prolonging life, judged it necessary to make some external applications to relieve the difficulty of breathing, which was fast increasing. The pain was borne without a murmur.
"Do I not try to be patient, mother?" whispered that little voice.