"Why, no; I should never get tired of that, I'm sure he never gets tired of loving me."
"Do you get tired of showing you love him by trying to please him?"
"No, Mary; but—"
"Never mind the 'buts' till I have done. Now, God is 'Our Father,' and all we have to do in heaven is to love him, and to show how very much we love him by trying to do all we can to please him. Do you think you'll get tired of that?"
"No. But that isn't like Sunday."
"What do we do on Sunday, Nannie?"
"Why, go to church and—"
"Yes; but what do we go to church for?"
"Oh, I see now!" said Nannie, her face brightening up,—"oh, I see! We worship God on Sunday, and that's what we'll do always in heaven; isn't it, Mary?"
"Yes, that's why we say it's always Sunday there; and we shall love God so much better there than we do now, that we can only be happy in praising him. Even now, when we think how good he is to us, and how he loves us, it seems as if we must praise him; but then we shall see him always, and never forget what he has done for us. Do you think we can help praising him, or that it will be hard work to join with the angels in singing, 'Holy, holy, Lord God Almighty'—'Worthy is the Lamb that was slain'? Do you think you understand now, Nannie, and will like to hear about heaven as much as Grannie Burt does?"