"I cannot say."
"Why? Because you don't know?"
"That is the reason, perhaps."
"You see," said Edith, arranging some flowers on the grave in the shape of a cross, "there are so many people there we love. Two grandfathers, two grandmothers, and such a lot of cousins I've never seen. England must be very, very beautiful. Father and mother call it home, and when I write I always say, 'We are coming home one day.' We're going to have a fig-tree; father says we shall sit under it." Basil smiled. "I like you to smile; you don't look so unhappy then. What makes you unhappy? You mustn't be. You must go home with us and see the people you love."
"Suppose there are none, little Edith."
She gazed at him solemnly. "Not even an angel?" she asked.
"An angel!" he exclaimed somewhat startled.
"Yes, an angel. One was here once." She had completed the cross of flowers, and she pointed to the grave. "Only for a little while, and when we go home she is coming with us. She came from heaven to us just for one night only; I was asleep and didn't see her; I was so sorry. Then they brought her here, and she flew straight up to heaven. I can't go up there to give her the English flowers, so I lay them here where she can see them, and when I come again and the flowers are gone I know that she has taken them away and put them in a jug of water--up there. Mother says flowers never die in heaven, so baby sister must have a lot. I dream of her sometimes; I wish you could see her as I do. There's a picture of a baby angel over my bed, and she is just like that. Such beautiful large grey eyes--my eyes are grey--and shining wings. We love each other dearly."
"I hope that will always be, little Edith."
"Oh, it will be. When you love once you love always; that is what mother says, and she never says anything wrong. I wish you had an angel."