LITTLE CHUB sat on the curb-stone, dipping small brown toes into the not very pure water which flowed along the gutter, and watching with his large, blue eyes the fleecy clouds which far up above the narrow court in which he dwelt with granny sailed lazily across the patch of blue sky just visible between two tall buildings opposite.
Chub’s real name was Tommy Brown, but, on account of his roly-poly figure and little round face, he was nick-named “Chub,” and even granny called him so, till the boy forgot he had another name.
There had been a funeral that morning near Chub’s house, and all the boys gathered about the spot, listening open-eared and open-eyed to the service which told the mourners of that “happy land, far, far away,” and was intended to comfort them.
But Chub was too little to understand much of all he heard, and could only feel very sorry for the poor little girl who cried for her dear mamma, and clung to her father’s hand terrified because that mamma would not even open her eyes nor look at her. Then the carriages moved slowly down the street, and Chub went home to granny and teased her with questions.
“Granny, what’s up there?”
Mrs. Brown, at her wash-tub, half-enveloped in steam, scrubbed away and answered:
“The other wurrld, honey dear,” reverentially raising her eyes to the blue patch of sky to which Chub’s fat finger pointed.
“What other world, granny?”
“The good place where yer mammy and daddy have gone, to be sure.”