"Yes," agreed Billy. He listened, then went on, "But hark to the rain! It's coming down in torrents! It must have put out all the bonfires, and they were burning so beautifully. Oh, Granny, poor Jenny! How dreadful to think of her out in the orchard."
"Jenny's all right," Mrs. Brown assured him. "Your grandfather put her in her stable the last thing before he went to bed; she won't sleep out again this winter, I reckon. Why, you're trembling still, child!"
"But I'm not frightened any longer. I'm not afraid of thunder and lightning; it was only—that I didn't know—"
"Oh, yes, I understand now," Mrs. Brown broke in; "but I didn't at first. I'm sorry I didn't."
"Oh, never mind, Granny," Billy murmured. "I oughtn't to have been afraid; I shouldn't have been if I'd stopped to think—to remember God was with me and that He'd keep me safe."
"He didn't keep your mother safe!"
The little boy started up in bed.
"Yes, He did!" he cried. "He took her to be with Him for ever and ever! That's being safe, isn't it?"
Mrs. Brown was silent. She was not religious in the true sense of the word. She called herself a Christian, of course, but she had never opened her heart to the Saviour—never known that love which passeth knowledge. Indeed, she had never felt the need of that love; but now, as she looked at Billy's glowing face and shining eyes, she had a feeling that the little boy possessed something of which she was lacking.
"When I miss her—and, oh! I miss her always, every minute of the day," he continued, "it makes my heart ache less when I remember she's safe. Oh, mother!" He caught his breath with a sob.