"Do you think she was praying, Teresa?" I asked in a trembling voice.

"Yes, Lisita, she was praying. And I am sure that the good God heard her,
for she said to me after a long silence, Teresa, I believe my Saviour has
taken me for His own--I am a poor, guilty, and ungrateful sinner--I have
waited until the last moment, and I know my sins are great, but my
Saviour's love is greater. But oh, my husband!--and my children! I have
done nothing to attract them to God. Oh, Teresa, take care of them! Take
care of them! I have put them in the hands of the Lord that He may save
them also. I can do nothing and--it is too late!'

"She asked me to call your father who was resting in the next room for he
had watched all the previous night and had worked as usual all day. She
could hardly speak, but as best she could she prayed him to be reconciled
to God and to teach their children to know the way of salvation."

"The strange thing to me, Teresa," said Rosa thoughtfully, "is that our
father who loved our mother so much, has not taught us this Christian
religion according to our dear mother's last wish."

"That is the terrible part," Teresa answered. "An awful change came on him
at the death of your mother. He loved her desperately and when she died it
seemed as if his heart turned to stone, and when I tried to console him he
cried out bitterly, 'Don't speak to me of God and don't try to tell me He
is a God of love. He took away my most precious treasure and tore my heart
and my very life to pieces.'

"About a week after the death of my poor madame he called me to him and
said, 'Teresa, you are a good woman. You've brought up my dear Maria,