In a tremulous voice the question was repeated.
"Why, you queer little girl! Are you talking about heaven?"
"I don't know, ma'am, only it's where Jesus has paid the fare, and where there ain't no rent days to come 'round."
"Really, I scarcely know what to say, only you and this poor old man ought not to be out on this cold day."
"We thought we'd soon be there, ma'am, but 'tis dreadful cold," she replied, her slight frame shivering violently from head to foot.
"Can't you tell us? We want to go so awful bad. I should think you could, since it's for everybody."
"It is too cold and crowded to stand here and talk, child. Do you go to Sunday school?"
"No, ma'am; what is Sunday school?"
"You poor little heathen! Don't you know what Sunday schools are? They have them in all the churches. Find one and go tomorrow. They will tell you what you want better than I can.
"Take this quarter and get something to eat, then go back home. You will meet no one on the street to help you."