"Nannie must go to school," said Mr. Bond to himself the day after the child's burial. "It won't do for her to stay there moping and pining after little Winnie! The baby's gone, and it won't bring her back again."

And so it was settled that she was to begin the next Monday. Mr. Bond thought it better that she should go to the parish school immediately in her vicinity, and connected with the church which he attended—not that he wished to free himself from the slight tax demanded by private teachers, for many a comfortable donation ten times the worth of so small a pittance, found its way into the parish treasury from his liberal purse. Oh! no, that wasn't Mr. Bond's reason. He knew that the child would be under a good and religious influence there, for besides being well taught, she would be daily gathered with the rest of the little lambs into the consecrated chapel, and be made to feel that her moral culture was of still greater importance than the mental. Besides he liked to know that she was under the eye of some good shepherd who would lead her safely on to the great and ever green pasture. It would be so pleasant to him, too, to see the object of his benevolence and care Sunday after Sunday, pattering up the broad aisle to her seat, and joining in the solemn and beautiful worship. He didn't believe she had ever been to church in her life; he ought to have inquired into that before. Poor Mr. Bond! here was another subject for penitence. So much as he thought of such privileges and blessings for himself, too! He was afraid he was not fit for such a responsibility as the one he had assumed! Well, the minister would help him; that was a comforting thought.

Nannie was delighted at the idea of studying. She had a quick and inquisitive mind, and she looked at the little parcel of books that her good friend brought her with a glad eye, and when Monday came she took her satchel, and long before the hour, was on her way to school, with a quick step and a buoyant expression.

There was no task in getting her off to her books, as there is in many a case where advantages come more lavishly. She felt that the blessing was too great to be sufficiently estimated. Her teacher long ago had told her that whatever of knowledge was gained in this world would not be lost, but that if rightly applied, it would make her spirit brighter, and fit it for a continually increasing and glorious expansion in the life to come; and she had wisdom enough to know that every intellectual acquirement was adding to the talent intrusted to her, and thus honoring the gracious Giver. So she determined to strive earnestly to improve her new privileges, and thus repay her benefactor as well as adorn her own mind.

The morning was very beautiful as she tripped along in the pure snow. The flakes had fallen thick and fast the day before, and now lay in feathery heaps all over the trees and fences and trellises, and there was but just a narrow path for her feet to tread upon. Men and boys were all about with their shovels, busily working, and the pure mass was tossed quickly from the walks. Snow-balls were flying at the peoples' heads, and many parties were already moving briskly over the smooth surface, and the bells were jingling gayly, and there was a healthful glow upon every body's face.

Nannie couldn't feel very joyous, for she thought of the little form that lay so still and breathless under the tiny mound; but the scene before her inspired her with cheerfulness, and she trudged on trying to be happy with the rest. She was just before May Minturn's door—she could not forget the house—hadn't she sat on those steps with dear Winnie, and hadn't little May spoken kindly to her, and kissed baby, too? It recalled her sister to her so vividly that the tears would not be stayed, and she let them flow. Just then the door opened, causing her to look up; there was a black crape tied to the bell, with a white ribbon, and she knew that either May, or the little sissy that she used so often to speak of, was dead.

"Is that for May," asked she, as Biddy spoke softly to her from the top step; and she pointed to the funeral emblems that were floating in the wintry breeze. "And may I see her, Biddy?"

"Shure, and that ye may," said Biddy, "and it's Winnie she was calling the day she died, jist before the life left her swate body; and how is the babby?" asked she, as Nannie followed her to the drawing-room.

"She's gone where May is," replied the sister, suppressing her sobs as far as she was able; "I knew they'd be wanted there!" and she stopped for the nurse to admit a little more light into the darkened room.

How beautiful little May was in her quiet repose! She lay upon the sofa with her soft curls falling over the calm forehead, and flowers covered the pillow, and her hands were folded upon her gentle breast as if they had done all their little work on earth.

Mrs. Minturn had seen Nannie enter the room, and she knew her as the child May had so often spoken about, and she went softly in where they were and stood beside the sofa, so pale and calm in her sorrow that Nannie was almost frightened. She noticed Nannie as she kissed the still sleeper, and smoothed down the silken hair lovingly, and she severed one beautiful lock and laid it in the poor girl's hand. Biddy had told her mistress of Winnie, and she had felt that the two children were as sisters in that Spirit land, and so she spared the precious curl. Oh! how Nannie treasured it. It seemed such a sacred thing to her to possess something that the finger of death had hallowed, and when she went home she folded it in a soft paper and put it within the cover of the big Bible, and often she drew it reverently forth, in after years, as she dwelt upon the two seraphs whose forms she could distinguish amid the angel band.