"I shall be out in a few days, and then you'll buy me one of those elegant plaid silks, won't you?
All the girls are wearing them, and I haven't had a new dress this winter, and here 'tis almost March." Oh, how the father longed to tell his dying child that her next dress would be a shroud.

But he could not.

He was too much a man of the world to speak to her of death,--he would leave that for her grandmother; so without answering her question, he said, "Rose, do you think you are able to be moved into the country ?" "What, to Chicopee?
that horrid dull place! I thought we were not going there this summer." "No, not to Chicopee, but to your grandma Howland's, in Glenwood.

The physician thinks you will be more quiet there, and the pure air will do you good." Rose looked earnestly in her father's face to see if he meant what he said, and then replied, "I'd rather go any where in the world than to Glenwood.

You've no idea how, I hate to stay there.