I 'll tell you all about it, for I think you may be able to help me.
Last night I watched with poor Mary Floyd.

She 's dying of consumption, you know," began Miss Mills, as her nimble fingers flew, and her kind old face beamed over the work, as if she put a blessing in with every stitch.

"Mary was very low, but about midnight fell asleep, and I was trying to keep things quiet, when Mrs.Finn she 's the woman of the house came and beckoned me out, with a scared face.

'Little Jane has killed herself, and I don't know what to do,' she said, leading me up to the attic." "Who was little Jane ?" broke in Polly, dropping her work.
"I only knew her as a pale, shy young girl who went in and out, and seldom spoke to any one.

Mrs.Finn told me she was poor, but a busy, honest, little thing, who did n't mix with the other folks, but lived and worked alone.