old that her mamma was in
heaven, she had thought a great deal about the matter, and her thoughts
had not been quite like those of other people.

"She went to heaven," she said. "But I am sure she comes out sometimes
to see me--though I don't see her. So does yours. Perhaps they can
both see us now. Perhaps they are both in this room."

Lottie sat bolt upright, and looked about her. She was a pretty,
little, curly-headed creature, and her round eyes were like wet
forget-me-nots. If her mamma had seen her during the last half-hour,
she might not have thought her the kind of child who ought to be
related to an angel.

Sara went on talking. Perhaps some people might think that what she
said was rather like a fairy story, but it was all so real to her own
imagination that Lottie began to listen in spite of herself. She had
been told that her mamma had wings and a crown, and she had been shown
pictures of ladies in beautiful white nightgowns, who were said to be
angels. But Sara seemed to be telling a real story about a lovely
country where real people were.

"There are fields and fields of flowers," she said, forgetting herself,
as usual, when she began, and talking rather as if she were in a dream,
"fields and fields of lilies--and when the soft wind blows over them it
wafts the scent of them into the air--and everybody always breathes it,
because the soft wind is always blowing. And little children run about
in the lily fields and gather armfuls of them, and laugh and make
little wreaths. And the streets are shining. And people are never
tired, however far they walk. They can float anywhere they like. And
there are walls made of pearl and gold all round the city, but they are
low enough for the people to go and lean on them, and look down onto
the earth and smile, and send beautiful messages."

Whatsoever story she had begun to tell, Lottie would, no doubt, have
stopped crying, and been fascinated into listening; but there was no
denying that this story was prettier than most others. She dragged
herself close to Sara, and drank in every word until the end came--far
too soon. When it did come, she was so sorry that she put up her lip
ominously.

"I want to go there," she cried. "I--haven't any mamma in this school."

Sara saw the danger signal, and came out of her dream. She took hold
of the chubby hand and pulled her close to her side with a coaxing
little laugh.

"I will be your mamma," she said.