“What do you mane, mammy?” said Atty; “sure doesn't everybody that goes to sleep waken out of it?”
“No, darlin'; there's a sleep that nobody wakens from.”
“Dat quare sleep, mammy,” said a little one. “Oh, but me's could, mammy; will we eva have blankets?”
The question, though simple, opened up the cheerless, the terrible future to her view. She closed her eyes, put her hands on them, as if she strove to shut it out, and shivered as much at the apprehension of what was before her, as with the chilly blasts that swept through the windowless house.
“I hope so, dear,” she replied; “for God is good.”
“And will he get us blankets, mammy?”.
“Yes, darlin', I hope so.”
“Me id rady he'd get us sometin' to ait fust, mammy; I'm starvin' wid hungry;” and the poor child began to cry for food.