“Why, that it was wrong to fret as I’d been doing--wrong to feel so lonesome.” “But why was it wrong?” “Because it seemed kind of not trusting the Lord Jesus. He said He’d always be with us to take care of us and comfort us; and sure enough He is, if only we’ll just look up and find Him.” Winifred looked awed and reverent. “Did you look up and find Him, Phil?” “I did after a bit; but it was a good while before I seemed able to see Him.” Winifred sighed, and looked wistful. “I wish I could do that. I do so wish Jesus lived down here, so that we could just go and see Him and talk to Him, then it would be all so nice. Heaven seems such a long way off; it doesn’t seem as if He could see us or hear us right away there.” “Well, just at first perhaps it doesn’t,” answered Phil, with a far-away look in his eyes, “but that feeling goes off by-and-by, and He seems quite near--at least he does to me; and I _know_, just as well as if I could see Him, that He’s listening to me, and that He loves me, just as He loved those little children as He blessed when He did live down here.” “Do you feel like that, Phil?” said Winifred. “I wish I could too.” “I think you will, Miss Winnie, if you think much about Him, and ask Him to help you to see Him. It seems as if He likes folks to ask Him things, so as He can give them what they want; leastways, it has always seemed so to me.” “Do you like thinking about Jesus?” asked Winnie, after a few minutes’ silence. “Why, yes, to be sure I do. You see--you see--” and there Phil paused. “What, Phil?” “You see, Miss Winnie, I can’t help thinking as I shall go to Him before so very long. Folks don’t tell me so, but I can kind of see it in their faces, and it sets me thinking.” Winifred looked grave and awed. She hesitated a little before she could bring herself to ask the next question, and when she did so it was in a very low voice. “Do you mean that you think you will die soon, Phil?” “Why, yes, Miss Winnie; I know the doctor doesn’t think I can live very much longer.” Winifred’s face was very grave and rather pale; she drew a little nearer the boy’s couch. “Doesn’t it make you frightened to think about dying, Phil?” she said. “Not now, Miss Winnie; it did once. I was ever so much afraid at first, and couldn’t bear to believe it. But I couldn’t help thinking about it, do what I would, and now I don’t feel a bit afraid.” “I think I should be afraid,” said Winnie. “Not if you loved Jesus,” answered the boy, with a sudden smile like sunshine lighting all his face. “I think now I am glad to go, if it is His will to take me.” “Glad!”