When all was finished, and the funeral procession had departed, the
poor people who were present approached the grave, sobbing, and
repeating, "Sweet messenger of goodness! Our kind friend, our
_true_ mother!" And two or three of the children placed upon her
grave nosegays of box and white flowers.

"Alas," said a young girl, "she will never hear me read the Bible
again, nor instruct me how to live!"

Another cried loudly, "Who will now come to visit my sick mother,
and read the Bible to her, and bring her comfort and assistance."

And there was a father, a poor workman, with two little boys, who,
holding his children by the hand, came and placed himself near the
spot where the head of Amelia was laid, saying to them, "Here, my
poor children, under this sod, rests that sweet countenance which
used to smile upon you, as if she had been your mother! Her lips have
often told you, that you were not orphans, and that God was better to
you than a parent.... Well, my dear children, let us remember what
she used to say: 'God has not forgotten us, and He will sustain us!'"

I was with my brother, who himself wept with all his heart, to see
the sincere grief of these poor people. He whispered to me, "I have a
great mind to speak to them, and ask them what Amelia used to do for
them." I had the same wish; so we approached a group which surrounded
the grave, and asked them when they had become acquainted with Amelia.

"For my part," answered the old man, already spoken of, "this
messenger of peace visited me two years ago, for the first time. I