“Did you look up and find Him, Phil?”
“I did after a bit; but it was a good while before I seemed able to see Him.”
Winifred sighed, and looked wistful.
“I wish I could do that. I do so wish Jesus lived down here, so that we could just go and see Him and talk to Him, then it would be all so nice. Heaven seems such a long way off; it doesn’t seem as if He could see us or hear us right away there.”
“Well, just at first perhaps it doesn’t,” answered Phil, with a far-away look in his eyes, “but that feeling goes off by-and-by, and He seems quite near—at least he does to me; and I know, just as well as if I could see Him, that He’s listening to me, and that He loves me, just as He loved those little children as He blessed when He did live down here.”
“Do you feel like that, Phil?” said Winifred. “I wish I could too.”
“I think you will, Miss Winnie, if you think much about Him, and ask Him to help you to see Him. It seems as if He likes folks to ask Him things, so as He can give them what they want; leastways, it has always seemed so to me.”
“Do you like thinking about Jesus?” asked Winnie, after a few minutes’ silence.
“Why, yes, to be sure I do. You see—you see—” and there Phil paused.
“What, Phil?”