about, darling?"

"'Bout Jesus, mamma. Do He love little chillens? do he love wee Elsie?"

The gentle voice that answered was full of tears. "Yes, darling, mamma and
papa, and dear grandpa too, love you more than tongue can tell, but Jesus
loves you better still."

"Mamma, may Elsie go dere?"

"Where, my precious one?"

"To Jesus, mamma; Elsie want to go see Jesus."

A sharp pang shot through the young mothers heart, and her arms tightened
their clasp about the little form, while the hot tears chased each other
adown her cheeks. One fell on the child's face.

"What! mamma ky? Mamma don't want Elsie to go see Jesus? Den Elsie will
stay wis mamma and papa. Don't ky, Elsie's mamma;" and feebly the little
hand tried to wipe away her mother's tears.

With a silent prayer for help to control her emotion, Elsie cleared her
voice, and began in low, sweet tones the old, old story of Jesus and His
love, His birth, His life, His death.

"Mamma, Elsie do love Jesus!" were the earnest words that followed the
close of the narrative. "Say prayer now, and go bed. Elsie feel sick.
Mamma, stay wis Elsie?"

"Yes, my precious one, mamma will stay close beside her darling as long as
she wants her. You may say your little prayer kneeling in mamma's lap; and
then she will sing you to sleep."

"Jesus like Elsie do dat way?"

"Yes, darling, when she's sick."

Mamma's arms encircled and upheld the little form, the chubby hands were
meekly folded, and the soft cheek rested against hers, while the few words
of prayer faltered on the baby tongue.

Then, the posture changed to a more restful one, the sweet voice still
full of tears, and often trembling with emotion, sang the little one to
sleep.

Laying her gently in her crib, Elsie knelt beside it, sending up a
petition with strong crying and tears; not that the young life might be
spared, unless the will of God were so, but that she might be enabled to
say, with all her heart, "Thy will be done."

Ere she had finished, her husband knelt beside her asking the same for her
and himself.

They rose up together, and folded to his heart, she wept out her sorrow
upon his breast.

"You are very weary, little wife," he said tenderly, passing his hand
caressingly over her hair and pressing his lips again and again to the
heated brow.

"It is rest to lay my head here," she whispered.

"But you must not stand;" and sitting down he drew her to the sofa, still
keeping his arm about h