is in that of Mrs. Slade!

"How is little Mary to-night?"

"Not so well, I'm afraid. She has a good deal of fever."

"Indeed! Oh, I'm sorry! Poor child! what a dreadful thing it was!
Oh! Fanny! you don't know how it has troubled me. I've been
intending to come around all day to see how she was, but couldn't
get off until now."

"It came near killing her," said Mrs. Morgan.

"It's in God's mercy she escaped. The thought of it curdles the
very blood in my veins. Poor child! is this her on the settee?"

"Yes."

Mrs. Slade takes a chair, and sitting by the sleeping child, gazes
long upon her pale sweet face. Now the lips of Mary part--words
are murmured--what is she saying?

"No, no, mother; I can't go to bed yet. Father isn't home. And
it's so dark. There's no one to lead him over the bridge. I'm not
afraid. Don't--don't cry so, mother--I'm not afraid! Nothing will
hurt me."

The child's face flushes. She moans, and throws her arms about
uneasily. Hark again.