d
not know much about it, and he had always fancied it was for very bad
people. He must tell Treffy about Mabel's words. Perhaps, after all, his
old master did love Jesus. Christie hoped very much that he did. He
longed for evening to come, that he might go home and ask him.

The afternoon was still more close and sultry than the morning had been,
and little Christie was very weary. The organ was heavy for him at all
times, and it seemed heavier than usual to-day. He was obliged to sit
down to rest for a few minutes on a doorstep in one of the back streets
about half a mile from the court where old Treffy lived. As he was
sitting there, with his organ resting against the wall, two women met
each other just in front of the doorstep, and after asking most
affectionately after each other's health they began to talk, and
Christie could not help hearing every word they said.

"What's that place?" said one of them, looking across the road at a
long, low building with a board in front of it.

"Oh; that's our new mission-room, Mrs. West," said the other; "it
belongs to the church at the corner of Melville Street. A young man
comes and preaches there every Sunday night; I like to hear him, I do,"
she went on, "he puts it so plain."

"Puts what plain, Mrs. Smith?" said her friend.

"Oh, all about heaven, and how we're to get there, and about Jesus and
what He's done for us. He's a kind man, is Mr. Wilton; he came to see
our Tommy when he was badly. Do you know him, Mrs. West?"

"No," said Mrs. West; "maybe I'll come to-morrow; what time is it?"

"It begins at seven o'clock every Sunday," said Mrs. Smith; "and you
needn't bother about your clothes, there's no one there but poor folks
like ourselves."

"Well, I'll come, Mrs. Smith. Good day." And the two parted.

And little Christie had heard all they said, and had firmly made up his
mind to be at the mission-room the next evening at seven o'clock. He
must lose no time in making out what Treffy wanted to know. One day of
the month was gone already.

"Master Treffy," said Christie, that night "do you love Jesus?"

"Jesus!" said the old man; "no, Christie, I can't say I do. I suppose I
ought to; good folks do, don't they?"

"Master Treffy," said Christie, solemnly, "if you don't love Jesus, you
can't go to heaven, and you'll never have a home any more,--never any
more."

"Ay, ay, Christie, that's true, I'm afraid. When I was a little chap no
bigger than you, I used to