She failed rapidly after she went home.
On the morning of August 5, 1906, while I was at my breakfast table,
the telephone bell rang and a voice, strange to me, said "Mrs.
Alverson, Lorina Kimball is dead." Without any warning or thought of
receiving such a shock, of course, the day was done for me. I mourned
for her as for my own. A bright, sunny child, singing and laughing in
her childish glee, she made many friends, among them, members of the
Amoskeg Veterans who made her the Daughter of the Regiment in
Washington, D.C., and presented her with a beautiful silk flag and an
elegant crescent pin of jewels for her fine recitations and character
readings.
A clearer mind I never taught and I prayed and hoped that nothing
would intervene to stop her progress that had been so brilliantly
begun. But my hopes did not avail. Before the bud had unfolded into
maturity it was transplanted into the Garden of Eden above. Only those
who have lost loved ones are able to feel how my heart's deepest
sorrow went out with this young life. It was a pity that her notes
could not have been recorded as they floated out into the still hour
of the night. After her studies were over she would beg of me to join
her in the song duets which we had perfected. When I reasoned with her
not to sing, when so tired, like a spoiled child she pleaded. "My dear
Lady Margaret, I am tired only with my studies, sing with me, I want
to rest before I sleep.
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