Bertie lifted his head and looked round; but there was no one near, and he smiled at his passing fear.
“They are in heaven,” he said softly to himself, “with Jesus—I suppose it is always heaven where He is. They must be very happy. I hope I shall go there some day. I wonder if I shall know them when I do. I feel as if I should.”
The thought of having in heaven some children who seemed almost like living friends was a strange and rather solemn one to the little boy. It filled him with a sense of mingled happiness and awe, and he looked again at the names upon the tombstone, and read them slowly one by one.
And then his eye was caught by four words, standing quite alone at the foot of the stone:
“Thy will be done.”
Bertie covered his face with his hands and sank into a sort of dream, which he could not possibly have put into words. Strange thoughts and flitting memories crowded in upon his brain, and he shut out all outward sights, and was deaf to all outward sounds, and knew nothing more until he was suddenly aroused by feeling himself touched very gently, and his own hands taken away from his face.
“What is the matter, my little man?”
It was the Squire’s voice that spoke, and it was the Squire himself who was now standing before him, beside the quiet grave.
Bertie looked up with bewildered eyes and said nothing.
“Why are you here, my child?”