"_Tomkins!_" cried I, "you make my Head ache ready to split, and my Eyeballs seem too big for mine Eye-lids to shut over them. So hot, too, as they are! I cannot argue with you. But, oh, _Tomkins_! if all is dark, remember that 'the Night is far spent, the Day is at Hand!'" "So this Book sayeth," rejoined he, thoughtfully. "Well," said I, sighing, "I shall soon know." "_Know?_ why?" "Why, because, _Tomkins_, I think I am very likely dying ... and then, if I have no Soul, where do you think I shall go to?" "I think," quod he, drawing his Hand across his Eyes, "that _you_ will go to Heaven ... if there be such a Place." "I think so too, and feel sure of it," said I. "What makes you feel sure?" quod he. "Well," quod I, "I seem to have a sort of Witness in myself." "I wish I had," quod he, sighing deeply: and returned to his Reading. "What have you come to, now?" quod I presently, seeing him stop. "_Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven_," quod _Tomkins_. "Such? what?" "Little Children, like Mistress _Anne_ ... and Lads like you." "Ah!" said I, "if I had not got her out of the Water, she'd have been in Heaven now." "I suppose you don't want her to _be_ there, though?" said _Tomkins_. "Time enough for that—she'll go there when her Hour comes." "Oh! then you think there _is_ such a Place to go to, do you?" "For you and for her," quod he, cautiously. "You say that to humour me, I fear, _Tomkins_, because I am ill. If there be such a Place for us, why not for you?" "Lad, you must keep quiet, and not talk so, or you'll go there sooner than I wish." "Well, I am glad thou admittest there is such a Place," returned I, beginning to feel greatly spent. "Only I wish you felt you should go there too." "Boy, I'm not good enough," ejaculated he, with a shake of the Head. "Ah, if you feel that, I don't despair of you," quod I. "There's Hope for those that feel like forgiven Sinners or unforgiven Sinners: the only hopeless ones are those that don't feel Sinners at all. And now, _Tomkins_, just give me Something to drink." He did so, holding up my Head on his Arm. "Is there Anything else," quod he, "I can do for thee?" "Why, yes," quod I, wistfully, "and then I think I could go to sleep." "What is it?" saith he very kindly. "I'll do it for thee." —"_Tomkins_, is it St. _Bartholomew's_ Eve yet? my Head is confused." "_Bartholomew's_ Eve, Lad? Why, that's passed!" "Oh me! ... how long?" "Oh, not many Days—" "Days?" And I felt so lost. —"Then, the Swifts are gone!" said I. "Well, don't let's think about the Swifts," quod he gently. "_Tempus fugit_, as the Dial-plate says. What is it thou wilt have me to do?" "_Tomkins!_"—and I reached his Ear down to me as he leant over me, "I've been so weak and so queer ever since I fell into the Water, that I don't believe, at least I can't remember having once said my Prayers ... will you say one for me?" "I can't, Boy," and a hot Tear fell on my Face.