They were sad, too. When the youngest--their darling
Sue--conversed in this strain, a cloud always came over their sunny faces.
They could scarcely tell why it was so; for they, too, loved to think of
heaven. But the language of their sister seemed to them to belong to
another world; and often, in the midst of their brightest hopes, would come
the fear, like a thunderbolt, that God would crush that cherished flower,
and remove her from their embrace while she was young.
"Sue," at length said Eliza, the eldest sister, "why do you always talk so
much about heaven?"
"I don't know," was the reply; "perhaps, because I think a good deal about
it. I dreamed last night"----
"Oh, I thought so," said Maria, playfully interrupting her sister; "I
should think the little fairies were playing hide and seek all around your
pillow every night. I wish they would whisper in my ears as they do in
yours. Why, the naughty things hardly ever speak to me, and when they do,
they tell a very different story from those they tell you. It is generally
about falling down from a church steeple, or something of that kind.
Pages:
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105