Mrs. Sartell was alone in the room with Bess. I expected that she would
meet me with an almost reproachful look, but there was only sorrow in her
face, a sorrow that seemed intensified by the smile she lifted to us as
we entered. The air in the room was very pure and sweet. The bed on which
Bess lay was as white as snow. But what a change a day had wrought in the
little face pressed against the pillow.
"Teacher's come," said Grandma Keeler, with soft; pathetic cheer, bending
over the child.
"Would she care now?" I thought. "Would she know me?"
Just once she opened her eyes wide, smiled, and threw her arms towards me
feebly. I would have taken her then, I thought, if it had been my death.
They wrapped a shawl around her, and I took her in my arms, rocked her
gently and sang to her, very softly, the songs she loved best. She moved
a little restlessly, and then lay very still with her head on my breast.
So I rocked and sang to Bess, and the two women moved noiselessly about
the room until Grandma Keeler came and looked down very intently into the
little one's face.
"She's asleep," I murmured, placing a finger on my lips.
"Yes, she's asleep," said Grandma, in a trembling voice, solemnly.
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