Margie Serene Pannell was born May 7th, 1902, died Dec. 28th, 1905.

Death, the grimmest specter known to humanity has invaded the home of B.F. and Emma Pannell and marked for its victim their only little daughter, and sealed her life forever, before the parents realized that she was dangerously ill. It was in the Christmas tide, when every childish heart is widely expectant of old Santa, and Margie's little stocking had been stuffed with Christmas goodies and her heart beat high at finding, too, a beautiful doll. She was especially delighted with her little brother's building blocks, and although she didn't feel well, for several days kept bravely at play, complaining very little. Thursday morning she said, "Papa, I don't believe i want any breakfast," saying that her head hurt. About 2 o'clock in the afternoon her symptoms became alarming and a physician was quickly summoned, and although he did everything known to his science for the relief of the little sufferer, she was past human aid, and the white-winged messenger came and bore her little spirit on his snowy wings to the beautiful realms of the blest. Little Margie was sweet and beautiful, always sacrificing her own pleasures, giving up her towns one by one to her playmates to avoid a disturbance. She was quiet and lovable, wanting to lay in her mother's arms, and would cling into her papa's lap every night to be rocked to sleep.

Her body was beautiful in death as she lay in the little white casket, so sweet in her exquisite burial garments, the coldest heart could but shed a tear, though they could but faintly conceive of the anguish the fond parents endured as the little body disappeared from view.

Rev. W.H. Wynn, of Waco, her mother's former pastor and father's life-long friend, conducted the funeral services at the C.P. Church on Saturday morning, Dec. 30th, and she was laid to rest in the Forney Cemetery. May the Lord comfort dear ones as they cry to him in their sorry.

"Another one, O Lamb of God,
Within this quiet fold.
Among Thy Father's sheep
I Lay to sleep.

Her head ne'er for a single night did rest,
Beyond her mother's breast.
Keep her, dear Lord, close to Thee,
Lest she should wake and cry for me."

A Friend