yet reliant on any who will help her.
Jessy, with her little piquant face, engaging prattle, and winning ways, is made to be a pet.
* * * * * "Do you know this place?
No, you never saw it; but you recognise the nature of these trees, this foliage--the cypress, the willow, the yew.
Stone crosses like these are not unfamiliar to you, nor are these dim garlands of everlasting flowers.

Here is the place: green sod and a grey marble head-stone--Jessy sleeps below.

She lived through an April day; much loved was she, much loving.

She often, in her brief life, shed tears--she had frequent sorrows; she smiled between, gladdening whatever saw her.

Her death was tranquil and happy in Rose's guardian arms, for Rose had been her stay and defence through many trials; the dying and the watching English girls were at that hour alone in a foreign country, and the soil of that country gave Jessy a grave.
* * * * * "But, Jessy, I will write about you no more.