'What a grateful little dear it is.

Pretty creetur! What would his mother feel if she had sat by him as I have, and could see him now!' 'Perhaps she does see me,' whispered Oliver, folding his hands together; 'perhaps she has sat by me.

I almost feel as if she had.' 'That was the fever, my dear,' said the old lady mildly.
'I suppose it was,' replied Oliver, 'because heaven is a long way off; and they are too happy there, to come down to the bedside of a poor boy.

But if she knew I was ill, she must have pitied me, even there; for she was very ill herself before she died.

She can't know anything about me though,' added Oliver after a moment's silence.