“They will pray for you, dear,” I said at length, “because they will want to talk to God about the little boy who is coming to Him; to tell Him how glad they are that he is to be happy at last, but that they shall miss him very, very much.”

“The priest lives clear out Market Street, ’nd he wouldn’t git ’ere ’fore God knew the hull thing ‘thout his tellin’ of it.  You pray, Miss Kate.”

"O thou dear, loving Father in Heaven, Patsy’s Father and mine, who givest all the little children into their mothers’ arms, if one of them is lost and wandering about the world forlorn and alone, surely Thou wilt take him to a better home!  We send little Patsy to Thee, and pray that his heart may be fitted with joy and thankfulness when he comes to live in Thy house."

“Tell ’im ’bout them three years what I lost, so ’t He’ll make ’lowance, jest as you did.”

"O God, who saw fit to lay a heavy burden on Patsy’s little shoulders and take away his three years, make them up to him in his heavenly life."

“Yer never said Amen!  ’T ain’t no good ’thout yer say Amen!”

"Amen!"

Silence for many minutes.  The brain was alive with thoughts, but the poor tired body was weakened already with the labor of telling them.  When he spoke again, it was more slowly and with greater difficulty.

“I guess—­Heaven—­is kind o’ like—­our Kindergartent—­don’t you? ’nd so—­I ain’t goin’ to feel—­strange!  There’ll be beautiful places, with flowers bloomin’ in ’em, ’nd birds ’nd brooks mebbe, like those in the stories you tell us, and lots of singin’ like we have; and the peoples are good to each other, like our children, ‘ceptin’ Jimmy Battles,—­’nd they’ll do each other’s work, ’nd wait on the angels, ’nd run errants for God, I s’pose—­and everybody’ll wear clean—­white—­aprons—­like in the picture-books; but I sha’n’t like it much ’thout you git there pretty quick, Miss Kate;—­but I ain’t goin’ to cry!”

“Oh, Patsy, my boy, it is for those who are left behind to cry.  It must be better to go.”

“Well, I’m willin’.  I’ve got enough o’ this, I tell yer, with backaches, ’nd fits, ‘nd boys callin’ sassy names—­’nd no gravy ever on my pertater;—­but I hate to go ’way from the Kindergartent—­only p’raps Heaven is just like, only bigger, ’nd more children—­’nd no Jimmy Battleses!  Sing about the pleasant mornin’ light, will yer, please—­Miss Kate?”

And in a voice choked with tears, as Jim came in and lifted Patsy in his arms, I sang the hymn that he had sung, with folded hands and reverent mien, every morning of his life in the Kindergarten:—­

    “Father, we thank Thee for the night,
     And for the pleasant morning light;
     For rest and gladness, love and care,
     And all that makes the day so fair! 
     Help us to do the things we should: 
     To be to others kind and good;
     In all we do, in work or play,
     To grow more loving every day!”