"I shall not get well, father; I'm going to die."

The groans, impossible to repress, that issued through the lips of
Joe Morgan, startled the ears of his wife, and she came quickly to
the bedside.

"What is it? What is the matter, Joe?" she inquired, with a look
of anxiety.

"Hush, father. Don't tell her. I only said it to you." And Mary
put a finger on her lips, and looked mysterious. "There, mother--
you go away; you've got trouble enough, any how. Don't tell her,
father."

But the words, which came to him like a prophecy, awoke such pangs
of fear and remorse in the heart of Joe Morgan, that it was
impossible for him to repress the signs of pain. For some moments
he gazed at his wife--then stooping forward, suddenly, he buried
his face in the bed-clothes, and sobbed bitterly.

A suggestion of the truth now flashed through the mind of Mrs.
Morgan, sending a thrill of pain along every nerve. Ere she had
time to recover herself, the low, sweet voice of Mary broke upon
the hushed air of the room, and she sung:

"Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are,
While on His breast I lean my head,
And breathe my life out, sweetly, there."