Ida sat holding her mother's hand.

It was a sunny morning, and the bells of neighbouring churches began to ring out clearly on the frosty air.
"Ida," said the sick woman, raising herself suddenly, "get me some note-paper and an envelope out of the box; and go and borrow pen and ink, there's a good child." The materials were procured, and, with a great effort, Lotty managed to arrange herself so as to be able to write.

She covered four pages with a sad scrawl, closed the envelope, and was about to direct it, but paused.
"The bells have stopped," she said, listening.

"It's half-past eleven.
Put on your things, Ida." The child obeyed, wondering.
"Give me my purse out of the drawer.

See, there's a shilling.