That was a quiet, a truly pleasant winter. After getting letters from
David, telling of his safe arrival out, everybody became more cheerful.
But in the spring, as warm weather came on, Emily grew every day weaker.
The apple-blossoms came and went unheeded.
One morning she awoke, unusually free from pain, and said to Mary
Ellen,--
"I saw David last night. He said to me, 'I shall come sooner than I
expected. But, before I come, I shall send the ruby necklace.'" Then she
described the miner's hut in which she had seen him.
This was in the first part of June.
On the day after the fourth of July we got news of his death. He had
been lost overboard, in a storm, between San Francisco and the Sandwich
Islands.
It is very sad to recall that time of deep affliction. He was the last
of five sons, all of whom had left home in full health and strength,
none of whom returned.
"Five as likely young men," said poor Miss Joey, "as ever grew up
beneath one roof."
"All five gone!" groaned the old man, as he leaned his face against the
wall.
"Five brothers waiting for me," whispered Emily, as Mary Ellen bent over
her, weeping.
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