As Louise had been his idol, his grief was deep. It stirred his whole being. Her last testimony had convinced him that there is a Savior, that he is interested in mankind, and that he is able to keep in every affliction. Standing by the cold, lifeless form of his little daughter, he promised God that he would meet her in heaven.
After these things Mrs. Worthington realized more keenly than ever the value of confidence between children and parents. With renewed energy she sought daily to strengthen that cord which now seemed to her almost divine. Her daily talks now contained a richer and deeper meaning to Bessie, whose understanding of heavenly things was growing clearer since her sister’s death. Through her mother’s teaching she gained a knowledge of God and spiritual life that would have taken her many, many years to comprehend had she been left to herself.
Mrs. Worthington was surprised and pleased to note Bessie’s confidence in her mother’s teaching. One day, in answer to the assertion of a little neighbor girl that Louise was not alive, but dead and buried, Bessie said, “I know Sister’s body is dead and buried, but her soul is living with Jesus. He was waiting for her when she died and took her soul away with him.”
“I am glad, my child,” said her mother, sometime after this conversation, “that you love to come to me with things that trouble you; for as you’re going to school now, you can not help hearing and seeing many things that I would rather keep from you until you’re older. You’ll see and hear many things that you should allow no place in your life; but if you’ll always come to me, I’ll instruct you so that they’ll not be harmful to you. When I was a child, how I longed for some one in whom I could confide! My mother was a good woman, but she didn’t realize how I often longed to unburden my heart to her. Father understood this desire, and we often had confidential talks.
“I shall never forget my gratitude when he took me upon his knee one day and told me about many dangers young girls must meet and explained how I might avoid them. His words were just in time; for I had often been allowed to spend the evening at the home of a little friend, who, like myself, was not taught how to meet danger. At first our play had been innocent sports, but a short time before my father’s talk a cousin had come to board with the family and attend school. He at once encouraged us to play a game of cards with him. As I knew nothing of the evil of card-playing, I was eager to learn; for he gave