"Very much," said Gus; "though the boys led me a pretty life at first. I meant to give them something for themselves when we got outside, but somehow I didn't. It seemed to me more gentlemanly to take no notice of them."
"You are right," said Lucy, smiling. "Oh, Gus, I'm so glad you're not like those horrid boys who are always fighting and quarrelling. Do you know, I used to go to Sunday school once?"
"Did you?"
"Yes; it was when my mother was living." And Lucy's face grew sadder than before.
"She is dead now?"
"Yes, she died five years ago. Gus, since I have been sitting here and looking down there—" she pointed in the direction of the cemetery—"I have been wishing that I too could die; it would be so good to lie there beneath the trees and rest for ever."
"Oh, Lucy, why should you say that?"
"Because I am always so tired," she replied; "so tired and full of trouble. There was a man here in the fields this afternoon. He had a harmonium, and he played and sang to the people about there being sweet rest in heaven. And he talked about Jesus, and how He would forgive us our sins and take us to heaven if we asked Him; but somehow I didn't seem to care. I don't know as I want to go to heaven; but I do long to lie still and be at rest."
"But what would your father do without you, Lucy? Think how it would grieve him if you died."
"Yes, I suppose it would," she said sadly.