IV

-“Cxcriia,” whispered Bob uncomfortably
some days later, “can you make out what
that oblong white box is on the table? That
must have been brought in last night after
we had gone to bed to get half-an-hour’s
sleep; and why do they not draw up the
blinds? They ust be aware that it is no
longer night. Here, you can see the white
box at this little opening by the side of the
blind. And—dear me—the young woman
is putting white flowers on the box. Cecilia,
where is baby?”

Mrs. Bob said nothing ; but she flew on to
the grass-plot, and picked a white daisy, and
laid it on the window-sill.

Three days after that Mr. and Mrs. Bob
Robinson were very busy picking daisies
and other such little white flowers as they
could carry, and putting them on a little
new humble mound in the cemetery a short
way off. They worked all day, and towards

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