rm for her. Slowly she
made her way round the church, looking at every tablet and monument,
and trying in vain to decipher the writing upon them. But one amongst
them brought her to a standstill: it was the figure of a little girl
sculptured in white marble, lying in a recumbent position; her hands
were crossed on her breast, with a lily placed between them, her eyes
were closed, and her hair curled over her brow and round her shoulders
in the most natural way. Just above her was a stained glass window--a
beautiful representation of the Saviour taking the children in His arms
and blessing them. Below the window was written in plain black
letters,--

IN LOVING MEMORY OF VIOLET RUSSELL.

Aged six years.

'_Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not._'

Betty drew a deep breath; her thoughts were busy. She wished herself
that little girl lying so calm and beautiful, with the red and golden
rays slanting across her; and then looking up at the window, she wished
still more that she was one of those happy children in the Lord's arms.

Looking up with tearful eyes, she clasped her hands, and let her
buttercups and bluebells fall to the ground unheeded.

'O God, I will be good! I will be good!'

Those were all the words uttered, but He who heard them looked down
into the overflowing heart, and knew all that lay behind them.

Long the child stood there, and then with flagging footsteps made her
way down the aisle.

'I'm very tired,' she murmured to herself; 'I'll just sit down inside
that pew.'

And a moment after, curling herself up on the cushions, Betty went fast
asleep.

She was dreaming soon of a wonderful white-robed throng; she saw the
little girl walk up with her white, still face to a golden throne, she
tried to follow, but could not manage to walk, and then the most
wonderful music began to sound; louder and clearer it came, until with
a start she opened her eyes and discovered where she was. Was it all a
dream? The music was still sounding in her ears, and sitting up she
peered over the edge of the high pew. There, seated at the organ, was
a lady, and she was pouring forth such a flood of melody and song that
it did indeed seem to the half-wakened child music straight from heaven.

Betty listened breathlessly to the words--words that she knew now so
well, and that were ever in her thoughts: 'These are they which came
out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes