'And what be the end of it?' asked the sexton.
'It says, they washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.'
'Ay,' said the old man, after a minute's silence, 'and 'tis the end of it don't fit me.'
The child looked up, astonishment coming into her blue eyes.
'But that's very easy,' she said, 'that is coming to Jesus and asking Him to wash our sins away in His blood. I thought everybody did that. I do it every night, because I'm an awful wicked girl. I'm always forgetting to be good.'
Again there was silence; the old man looked away over the hills in the distance. It was just the quietest time in the evening; the birds were already in their nests for the night,—even the rooks had subsided; and the stillness and peace around drew his heart and mind upwards. Betty thought he was looking at the sunset, which was shedding its last golden rays over the misty blue outlines of the hills across the horizon. Presently he drew the cuff of his sleeve across his eyes. 'And who be they that the Book says that of?' he asked.
'Why, it's the people in heaven—every one who dies, I s'pose. I like to think of them there, but I do want dreadfully to join them one day; and I'm afraid sometimes I shall be left out.'
Tears were filling the earnest little eyes, and the curly head bent over Prince to hide them.
'I mind,' said the sexton slowly, 'that my missus, before she died, told me to pray, "Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow." I expect she knew all about the washing, but I've never done much harm to any one, and I've attended church reg'lar.'
'I wish I was as good as you.' And Betty looked up with emphatic utterance. 'I'm always doing some one harm, and nurse will scold me when I get in for being out so late—I know she will. Good-bye, old man.'