“Save us!” said the old lady, with tears in her eyes. “What a grateful little dear it is. Pretty creetur! What would his mother feel if she had sat by him as I have, and could see him now!”

“Perhaps she does see me,” whispered Oliver, folding his hands together; “perhaps she has sat by me. I almost feel as if she had.”

“That was the fever, my dear,” said the old lady mildly.

“I suppose it was,” replied Oliver, “because heaven is a long way off; and they are too happy there, to come down to the bedside of a poor boy. But if she knew I was ill, she must have pitied me, even there; for she was very ill herself before she died. She can’t know anything about me though,” added Oliver after a moment’s silence. “If she had seen me hurt, it would have made her sorrowful; and her face has always looked sweet and happy, when I have dreamed of her.”