ittle while, and you can call me the
minute you want me."

The child was very quiet and resting then, and leaning his head happily
against Faith, watched Mr. Linden as he sat down by the bedside and
gave himself a sort of rest in the way he had proposed; and then
Faith's gentle voice was put in requisition. It was going over some
things Johnny liked to hear, very softly so that no ears but his might
be the wiser,--when the door opened and Jonathan Fax came in again. He
glanced at Mr. Linden, and advanced softly up to Faith. There stood and
looked down at his child and her with a curious look--that half
recognized what it would not see.

"You're as good to him as if he belonged to ye!--" said Jonathan, in a
voice not clear.

"So he does--" was Faith's answer, laying her cheek to the little boy's
head. "By how many ties," she thought; but she added no more. The words
had shaken her.

"How's he gettin' on?" was the uneasy question next, as the father
stooped with his hands on his knees to look nearer at the child.

Did he not know? Faith for a minute held her breath. Then she lifted
her face and looked up--looked full into his eyes.

"Don't you know, Mr. Fax, that Johnny cannot go any way but _well?_"

The words were soft and low, but the man stood up, straightening
himself instantly as if he had received a blow.

"Do you mean to say," he asked huskily, "that he is goin' to _die?_"

It startled Faith fearfully. She did not know how much Johnny would
understand or be moved by the words. And she saw that they had been
heard and noted. With infinite softness and quietness she laid her
cheek to the little boy's, answering in words as sweet as he had ever
heard from her voice--as unfearful--

"Johnny knows where he is going, if Jesus wants him."

"Jesus is in heaven," the child said instantly, as if she had asked him
a question, and with the same deliberate manner that he would have
answered her in Sunday school, and raising his clear eyes to hers as he
had been wont to do there. But the voice was fainter.

Faith's head drooped lower, and her voice was fainter too--but clear
and cheery.

"Yes, darling--and we'll be with him there by and by."

"Yes," the child repeated, nestling his head against her in a weary
sort of way, but with a little smile still. The father looked at Faith
and at the child like one mazed and bewildered; stood still as if he
had got a shock; then wheeling round spoke to nobody and went out