isters, though once a kind and
affectionate father, was now so altered by habits of intemperance, that
they found very little enjoyment in his society. But there was another
reason. Little Sue was an unusually thoughtful, serious child, for one of
her years. Was there not another reason, still? I do not know. I cannot
tell what words God may whisper to the child that loves him; but this I
know, that little Sue talked much of heaven, and seemed to have learned
more of the language of heaven than men can teach.

One bright Saturday, in the early spring time, when there was no school,
these sisters might have been seen winding their way through the woods, not
far from the house where they lived, searching for the first wild flowers.
Little Sue, the youngest, was very happy, but, as usual, more grave than
the other sisters. By and by, wearied with their walk, they sat down under
the shadow, of a tree, and talked a great while. At first, the conversation
was about birds and flowers; but Sue soon gave a serious turn to it.

"I wonder," said she, "if dear mother has pretty flowers in heaven. I hope
so--she loved them so well. Do you remember the little monthly rose she
wanted we should bring into her room, just before she died? How happy she
was, when one of us went and brought it to her bed. And she went to heaven
so soon after that! Oh, I think there must be flowers up there in the sky,
or she would not have thought of them and loved them so, when she was
dying. Don't you think so?"

And she was silent. So were her sisters, awhile. Thoughts of heaven made
them serious. They were sad, too. When the youngest--their darling
Sue--conversed in this strain, a cloud always came over their sunny faces.
They could scarcely tell why it was so; for they, too, loved to think of
heaven. But the language of their sister seemed to them to belong to
another world; and often, in the midst of their brightest hopes, would come
the fear, like a thunderbolt, that God would crush that cherished flower,
and remove her from their embrace while she was young.

"Sue," at length said Eliza, the eldest sister, "why do you always talk so
much about heaven?"

"I don't know," was the reply; "perhaps, because I think a good deal about
it. I dreamed last night"----

"Oh, I thought so," said Maria, playfully interrupting her sister; "I
should think the little fairies were playing hide and seek all around your
pillow every night. I wish they would whispe