All the time Mrs. Moseley was speaking, she listened with bright eyes
and flushed cheeks. But when the sweet old story came to an end,
Cecile burst into tears.
"Oh! I'm glad and I'm sorry," she sobbed; "I wanted a real, real
guide. I'm glad as the story's quite true, but I wanted someone to
hold my hand, and to carry Maurice when he's ever so tired. I'm glad
and sorry."
"But I'm not sorry," said Maurice, who was lying full length on the
hearth-rug, and listening attentively. "I'm glad, I am--and I'd like
to die; I'd much rather die than go south."
"Oh, Maurice!" said Cecile.
"Yes, Cecile. I'd much rather die. I like what that kind woman says
about heaven, and I never did want to walk all that great way. Do
Jesus have little boys as small as me in heaven, Mrs. Moseley, ma'am?"
"Lord bless the child. Yes, my sweet lamb. Why, there's new-born
babes up there; and I had a little un, he wor a year younger nor you.
But Jesus took him there; it near broke my heart, but he went there."
"Then I'll go too," said Maurice. "I'll not go south; I'll go to
heaven."
"Bless the bonnie children both," said Mrs. Moseley softly under her
breath. She laid her hand on Cecile's head, who was gazing at her
little brother in a sort of wonder and consternation. Then the good
woman rose to get supper.
The next day ushered in the most wonderful Sunday Cecile had ever
spent. In the first place, this little girl, who had been so many
years of her little life in our Christian England, went to church.
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