Lost Gip by Hesba Stretton

THEY had to leave the cab in the street, and walk across the chapel yard. A bright light shone through John Shafto's window, and fell upon the gravestones and the almost level graves, covered with rank grass. What a quiet place to live or die in, in the very heart of the City!

Mr. Mason trod softly, as if his step might already disturb the dying boy; and Sandy tenderly hushed Gip, who was chattering merrily in his arms. The kitchen was dark and empty, for Mr. Shafto was no longer in the arm-chair in the warmest corner; and they passed through, and very gently climbed up the old staircase. The door of John's room was open, and they could see him before they entered, his head lying against his mother's shoulder, and her arm about him, while the tears stole slowly down her cheeks. John's white face still wore a smile lingering about the mouth, though his eyes were closed. Mr. Shafto stood at the foot of the bed watching him, as if he could not bear to lose one moment of the few that were left in which he could see his boy's living face.