Faith had been rolling out in the hot hay ever since three o’clock, with one of the little Blands, and when the shadows grew long they came in with flushed cheeks and tumbled hair, to rest and cool upon the door-steps. I was sitting in the parlor, sewing energetically on some sun-bonnets for some of Aunt Winifred’s people down town,--I found the heat to be more bearable if I kept busy,--and could see, unseen, all the little _tableaux_ into which the two children grouped themselves; a new one every instant; in the shadow now,--now in a quiver of golden glow; the wind tossing their hair about, and their chatter chiming down the hall like bells. “O what a funny little sunset there’s going to be behind the maple-tree,” said the blond-haired Bland, in a pause. “Funny enough,” observed Faith, with her superior smile, “but it’s going to be a great deal funnier up in heaven, I tell you, Molly Bland.” “Funny in heaven? Why, Faith!” Molly drew herself up with a religious air, and looked the image of her father. “Yes, to be sure. I’m going to have some little pink blocks made out of it when I go; pink and yellow and green and purple and--O, so many blocks! I’m going to have a little red cloud to sail round in, like that one up over the house, too, I shouldn’t wonder.” Molly opened her eyes. “O, I don’t believe it!” “_You_ don’t know much!” said Miss Faith, superbly. “I shouldn’t s’pose you would believe it. P’r’aps I’ll have some strawberries too, and some ginger-snaps,--I’m not going to have any old bread and butter up there,--O, and some little gold apples, and a lot of playthings; nicer playthings--why, nicer than they have in the shops in Boston, Molly Bland! God’s keeping ’em up there a purpose.” “Dear me!” said incredulous Molly, “I should just like to know who told you that much. My mother never told it at me. Did your mother tell it at you?” “O, she told me some of it, and the rest I thinked out myself.” “Let’s go and play One Old Cat,” said Molly, with an uncomfortable jump; “I wish I hadn’t got to go to heaven!” “Why, Molly Bland! why, I think heaven’s splendid! I’ve got my papa up there, you know. ‘Here’s my little girl!’ That’s what he’s going to say. Mamma, she’ll be there, too, and we’re all going to live in the prettiest house. I have dreadful hurries to go this afternoon sometimes when Phœbe’s cross and won’t give me sugar. They don’t let you in, though, ’nless you’re a good girl.” “Who gets it all up?” asked puzzled Molly. “Jesus Christ will give me all these beautiful fings,” said Faith, evidently repeating her mother’s words,--the only catechism that she has been taught. “And what will he do when he sees you?” asked her mother, coming down the stairs and stepping up behind her. “Take me up in His arms and kiss me.” “And what will Faith say?” “_Fank--you!_” said the child, softly. In another minute she was absorbed, body and soul, in the mysteries of One Old Cat.