"Oh, little one," he cried, "did you get a posy for me? Is it your birthday?" and he stooped to kiss the golden hair, then the rosy lips.
"Her birthday will not be until next week," said her mother.
"I had forgotten. I am almost a hundred. And she is——"
"Seven."
"And when I get to be a hundred I'll have a little table like yours, and read out of the Bible, and we'll talk over things that happened when we were children."
He laughed and patted her shoulder. "I shall not be here," he said slowly.
"Oh, where are you going? I do not want you to go away," and she drew an apprehensive breath.
"We do not always stay in one place. I came from France years and years ago. And I shall go to another country, heaven. It is always summer there."
"Can't you take me?" with an eager, upward look.
"Mother wants you. And you are to be a little old lady and sit in this chair."