When the first bitterness was over, the family acceptedthe inevitable, and tried to bear it cheerfully, helping oneanother by the increased affection which comes to bind householdstenderly together in times of trouble. They put away their grief,and each did his or her part toward making that last year a happy one.

The pleasantest room in the house was set apart for Beth,and in it was gathered everything that she most loved, flowers,pictures, her piano, the little worktable, and the belovedpussies. Father's best books found their way there, Mother'seasy chair, Jo's desk, Amy's finest sketches, and every dayMeg brought her babies on a loving pilgrimage, to make sunshinefor Aunty Beth. John quietly set apart a little sum, that hemight enjoy the pleasure of keeping the invalid supplied withthe fruit she loved and longed for. Old Hannah never weariedof concocting dainty dishes to tempt a capricious appetite,dropping tears as she worked, and from across the sea camelittle gifts and cheerful letters, seeming to bring breathsof warmth and fragrance from lands that know no winter.

Here, cherished like a household saint in its shrine, satBeth, tranquil and busy as ever, for nothing could change thesweet, unselfish nature, and even while preparing to leavelife, she tried to make it happier for those who should remainbehind. The feeble fingers were never idle, and one of herpleasures was to make little things for the school childrendaily passing to and fro, to drop a pair of mittens from herwindow for a pair of purple hands, a needlebook for some smallmother of many dolls, penwipers for young penmen toiling throughforests of pothooks, scrapbooks for picture-loving eyes, andall manner of pleasant devices, till the reluctant climbers ofthe ladder of learning found their way strewn with flowers, asit were, and came to regard the gentle giver as a sort of fairygodmother, who sat above there, and showered down gifts miraculouslysuited to their tastes and needs. If Beth had wanted anyreward, she found it in the bright little faces always turned upto her window, with nods and smiles, and the droll little letterswhich came to her, full of blots and gratitude.

The first few months were very happy ones, and Beth oftenused to look round, and say "How beautiful this is!" as theyall sat together in her sunny room, the babies kicking and crowingon the floor, mother and sisters working near, and fatherreading, in his pleasant voice, from the wise old books whichseemed rich in good and comfortable words, as applicable now aswhen written centuries ago, a little chapel, where a paternalpriest taught his flock the hard lessons all must learn, tryingto show them that hope can comfort love, and faith make resignationpossible. Simple sermons, that went straight to the souls ofthose who listened, for the father's heart was in the minister'sreligion, and the frequent falter in the voice gave a doubleeloquence to the words he spoke or read.

It was well for all that this peaceful time was given them aspreparation for the sad hours to come, for by-and-by, Beth said theneedle was 'so heavy', and put it down forever. Talking wearied her,faces troubled her, pain claimed her for its own, and her tranquilspirit was sorrowfully perturbed by the ills that vexed her feebleflesh. Ah me! Such heavy days, such long, long nights, such achinghearts and imploring prayers, when those who loved her best wereforced to see the thin hands stretched out to them beseechingly, tohear the bitter cry, "Help me, help me!" and to feel that there wasno help. A sad eclipse of the serene soul, a sharp struggle of theyoung life with death, but both were mercifully brief, and then thenatural rebellion over, the old peace returned more beautiful thanever. With the wreck of her frail body, Beth's soul grew strong, andthough she said little, those about her felt that she was ready, sawthat the first pilgrim called was likewise the fittest, and waitedwith her on the shore, trying to see the Shining Ones coming toreceive her when she crossed the river.

Jo never left her for an hour since Beth had said "I feelstronger when you are here." She slept on a couch in the room,waking often to renew the fire, to feed, lift, or wait upon thepatient creature who seldom asked for anything, and 'tried not tobe a trouble'. All day she haunted the room, jealous of any othernurse, and prouder of being chosen then than of any honor her lifeever brought her. Precious and helpful hours to Jo, for now herheart received the teaching that it needed. Lessons in patiencewere so sweetly taught her that she could not fail to learn them,charity for all, the lovely spirit that can forgive and trulyforget unkindness, the loyalty to duty that makes the hardesteasy, and the sincere faith that fears nothing, but trusts undoubtingly.

Often when she woke Jo found Beth reading in her well-wornlittle book, heard her singing softly, to beguile the sleeplessnight, or saw her lean her face upon her hands, while slow tearsdropped through the transparent fingers, and Jo would lie watchingher with thoughts too deep for tears, feeling that Beth, inher simple, unselfish way, was trying to wean herself from thedear old life, and fit herself for the life to come, by sacredwords of comfort, quiet prayers, and the music she loved so well.

Seeing this did more for Jo than the wisest sermons, thesaintliest hymns, the most fervent prayers that any voice couldutter. For with eyes made clear by many tears, and a heartsoftened by the tenderest sorrow, she recognized the beauty ofher sister's life - uneventful, unambitious, yet full of thegenuine virtues which 'smell sweet, and blossom in the dust',the self-forgetfulness that makes the humblest on earth rememberedsoonest in heaven, the true success which is possible to all.

One night when Beth looked among the books upon her table,to find something to make her forget the mortal weariness thatwas almost as hard to bear as pain, as she turned the leaves ofher old favorite, Pilgrims's Progress, she found a little paper,scribbled over in Jo's hand. The name caught her eye and theblurred look of the lines made her sure that tears had fallenon it.

"Poor Jo! She's fast asleep, so I won't wake her to askleave. She shows me all her things, and I don't think she'llmind if I look at this", thought Beth, with a glance at hersister, who lay on the rug, with the tongs beside her, readyto wake up the minute the log fell apart.

Blurred and blotted, faulty and feeble as the lines were, theybrought a look of inexpressible comfort to Beth's face, for her oneregret had been that she had done so little, and this seemed toassure her that her life had not been useless, that her death wouldnot bring the despair she feared. As she sat with the paper foldedbetween her hands, the charred log fell asunder. Jo started up,revived the blaze, and crept to the bedside, hoping Beth slept.

"Not asleep, but so happy, dear. See, I found this and read it.I knew you wouldn't care. Have I been all that to you, Jo?" sheasked, with wistful, humble earnestness.

"Then I don't feel as if I'd wasted my life. I'm not so goodas you make me, but I have tried to do right. And now, when it'stoo late to begin even to do better, it's such a comfort to knowthat someone loves me so much, and feels as if I'd helped them."

"More than any one in the world, Beth. I used to think Icouldn't let you go, but I'm learning to feel that I don't loseyou, that you'll be more to me than ever, and death can't partus, though it seems to."

"I know it cannot, and I don't fear it any longer, for I'msure I shall be your Beth still, to love and help you more thanever. You must take my place, Jo, and be everything to Fatherand Mother when I'm gone. They will turn to you, don't failthem, and if it's hard to work alone, remember that I don'tforget you, and that you'll be happier in doing that than writingsplendid books or seeing all the world, for love is the only thingthat we can carry with us when we go, and it makes the end so easy."

"I'll try, Beth." and then and there Jo renounced her oldambition, pledged herself to a new and better one, acknowledgingthe poverty of other desires, and feeling the blessed solace ofa belief in the immortality of love.

So the spring days came and went, the sky grew clearer, theearth greener, the flowers were up fairly early, and the birdscame back in time to say goodbye to Beth, who, like a tired buttrustful child, clung to the hands that had led her all her life,as Father and Mother guided her tenderly through the Valley ofthe Shadow, and gave her up to God.

Seldom except in books do the dying utter memorable words,see visions, or depart with beatified countenances, and thosewho have sped many parting souls know that to most the endcomes as naturally and simply as sleep. As Beth had hoped, the'tide went out easily', and in the dark hour before dawn, onthe bosom where she had drawn her first breath, she quietlydrew her last, with no farewell but one loving look, one littlesigh.

With tears and prayers and tender hands, Mother and sistersmade her ready for the long sleep that pain would never mar again,seeing with grateful eyes the beautiful serenity that soon replacedthe pathetic patience that had wrung their hearts so long, andfeeling with reverent joy that to their darling death was abenignant angel, not a phantom full of dread.

When morning came, for the first time in many months the fire wasout, Jo's place was empty, and the room was very still. But a birdsang blithely on a budding bough, close by, the snowdrops blossomedfreshly at the window, and the spring sunshine streamed in like abenediction over the placid face upon the pillow, a face so full ofpainless peace that those who loved it best smiled through theirtears, and thanked God that Beth was well at last.