A fortnight ago her little boy was attacked with scarlet fever, in its most violent form.

From the first moment of his illness his case was hopeless, and he only suffered twenty-four hours.

I went over as soon as I heard of his death; the poor mother's condition was really pitiable.

She was helpless in her sorrow, which was so unexpected as to deprive her at first of the power of reason.

The Good Shepherd though, had not forgotten her--he told her that he had taken her little lamb, and had gently folded it in his bosom, and that he would wander with it in the lovely pastures of Paradise.