Her father stroked the ruffled hair and soothed her by his tender words till her tears flowed less freely and her sobs were checked, when he added: 

“Now, I want to speak of yourself, Dexie.  Do not keep Traverse waiting for you after I am gone.  He has been very patient, and it has been on my account that he has waited so long for you.  I am not blind to the trouble which you have borne so bravely and quietly these few months back; you have had little time to prepare anything for your new life, as most girls like to do, but this shall be made up to you, my dear.  I have thought sometimes I would ask you to have your marriage performed here before me, but I will not be so selfish; that should be the happiest hour of a woman’s life, and it would not be so to you under such circumstances.  Louie has brightened the house by her coming, but she will soon be returning to her aunt, and then I am afraid you will find it harder than ever, my dear little Dexie.”

Mrs. Sherwood came into the room, and finding Dexie sobbing on her father’s pillow, was much alarmed.

“What is it?  Are you worse, Clarence?” she cried, hysterically.

“No, no, dear wife, not that.  But I have been giving Dexie some directions regarding matters after I am gone, and it makes her feel badly, poor little girl!  She has been a good daughter to us, wife; so do not forget it when she needs your help and sympathy, and that time may be nearer than you think.”

Dexie could bear no more, but she must not grieve her father by her tears; so rose hurriedly, and kissing his brow, left the room.  She met Louie in the hall, and alarmed her by her grief.

“Is papa worse, Dexie?”

“I do not think so, but he has been talking to me about things which must be done when he is gone, and it breaks my heart!  Poor papa! he is so kind and thoughtful, he seems to remember the smallest thing that we shall need to look after, and advises about them.  I am afraid it will not be many days, Louie, before it is all over, and I believe he thinks so himself,” and she went to her room to sob away her grief.

It was evident to them all the next day that Mr. Sherwood was rapidly sinking, and Dexie scarcely left his side for a moment.

Once when he woke from a troubled sleep he smiled into her face, and said faintly: 

“She sang it very well, didn’t she, Dexie? the ‘pastures green,’ you know.  I never have forgotten it.  Can you sing it now for me?”

“Try to tell me a little more, dear papa.  Where was it you heard it?” trying in vain to think what had called forth this request.

“At Dr. Grant’s church that Sunday morning in Halifax.  You know—­the new singer you wanted to hear.  I know all about the ‘pastures green’ now, Dexie, but sing about it.”

Instantly the Sunday morning so long ago flashed back to her mind, and with one arm around her father’s neck, as she kneeled by his side, she sang: