As the early evening hour which was the children's bed-time drew near,
Elsie took her little girl again on her lap.
"Mamma, pease talk to Elsie," pleaded the sweet baby voice, while the
curly head fell languidly upon her shoulder, and a tiny hand, hot and dry
with fever, softly patted her cheek.
"What 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.
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