"When I shall be able to run about again, and play like other children with the little angels."
Jean smiled.
"We will hope that time will be long in coming."
Sunnie looked at her with a pucker in her brow.
"I'm talking of heaven," she said, a shade of disapproval in her tone. "You don't want heaven to be a long time in coming. Why, if I could take mother with me, I would like to go to-night. I was talking to Cousin Leslie yesterday about it. I want to go to heaven before I'm grown-up, because I want to play games—proper ones—like other boys and girls, and I can't do it here. Grown-up people don't play games. Cousin Leslie says mother doesn't want all her family in heaven, and I'm meant to stay and take care of her. I s'pose she would rather I didn't go just yet. But when I do get to heaven I shall be happier than anybody else there!"
Jean felt the pathos of this child's life. She listened to her chatter, and wondered she was so light of heart.
"Have you any pets? Or dolls?" she asked her presently.
"I don't care for dolls. I had a dear little puppy, but he didn't like to keep still on my sofa; even the kitten always runs away from me. I have my canary up there. He talks and sings to me. And when he has gone to sleep, and I am alone while nurse is at her tea, do you know who I talk to? You won't laugh if I tell you?"
"Indeed I won't!"
"I talk to my sofa. I often play that he is my horse. Did you ever read a fairy book called 'Grandmother's Chair'? The chair takes a little girl into fairyland, and my sofa does the same. I get nurse to tie two strings on to the legs at the bottom, and then I pretend they're my reins, and I take hold of them and shut my eyes, and we go to the loveliest places. If Cousin Leslie comes and tells me where I am, it is splendid!"