about, Timmons?"

"Tibbs, ma'am—Tibbs—while I was down here talking to you—and all alone, too—oh dear—oh dear—"

"Hold your tongue, Timmins; as if your being there would have done any good?"

"Don't you think so, ma'am?" asked the relieved Timmins.

"No, of course not; the child's time had come—it is all well enough; you couldn't have helped it. Call Watkins, and tell her to go lay her out. I will be up when I have taken my nap. You stay there till Watkins has done, and then lock the door and take the key. What o'clock is it?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Timmins. "Are you sure it was just as well for Tibbs to die alone? I hope I shan't die alone. Should you like to die alone, Mrs. Markham?"

"That has nothing to do with it," answered Mrs. Markham, angrily; "go along, Timmins, and don't make a fool of yourself."

"Poor thing! poor thing!" exclaimed Watkins, as she untied little Tibbs's night-dress to wash her thin limbs, "her sufferings are over. I tell you, Timmins, there'll be a long reckoning for this some day. I had rather be Tibbs here than Mrs. Markham. She isn't a sparrow's weight," said Watkins, lifting the child. "Was she sensible when she died, Timmins?"

"Don't ask me—don't ask me. Oh, Watkins, could I help it? I ran down to speak to Mrs. Markham, and—and—"

"She didn't die alone?" asked the horror-struck Watkins, laying the corpse back upon the pillow.

Timmins nodded her head, and sat rocking her figure to and fro.

"Now, don't say a word—don't say a word," said Timmins, "I know I shall be punished for it; but in deed I didn't mean no harm. I can't stay much longer in this house, Watkins."

Watkins made no reply, except by slow shakes of the head, as she drew on the little charity night-dress which was to answer for a shroud, smoothed the soft silken hair, and folded the small hands over the weary little heart.

"Do you know a prayer, Watkins?" asked Timmins, looking at the dead child.

"I know 'Our Father,'" replied Watkins, smoothing a fold in the shroud.

"Say it," said Timmins, reverently; "it won't do her no good, but it will me."

"Our Father——"

"Got all through?" asked Mrs. Markham, throwing open the door; "that's all right. Now spread the sheet over her face—open the window—lock the door, and give me the key."

"Won't you come in, ma'am, and look at the child?" asked Watkins, stepping one side.

"No, it don't signify; you washed her and all that, I suppose. Come out, Timmins; and you, Watkins, run for the undertaker—the sooner the child is taken away the better; it is not healthy to have a corpse in the house," and Mrs. Markham applied her smelling-salts to her nose.

Watkins tied on her bonnet, and went sorrowfully down street for the undertaker.