"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. In
her father's time, no one had ever thought of so employing part of
their Sunday. The sweet bells sounded all around, but they fell on
unheeding ears. Cecile's stepmother, too, was far too busy working
for Lovedy to have time for God's house, and when the children went