“You see, Miss Winnie, I can’t help thinking as I shall go to Him before so very long. Folks don’t tell me so, but I can kind of see it in their faces, and it sets me thinking.”
Winifred looked grave and awed. She hesitated a little before she could bring herself to ask the next question, and when she did so it was in a very low voice.
“Do you mean that you think you will die soon, Phil?”
“Why, yes, Miss Winnie; I know the doctor doesn’t think I can live very much longer.”
Winifred’s face was very grave and rather pale; she drew a little nearer the boy’s couch.
“Doesn’t it make you frightened to think about dying, Phil?” she said.
“Not now, Miss Winnie; it did once. I was ever so much afraid at first, and couldn’t bear to believe it. But I couldn’t help thinking about it, do what I would, and now I don’t feel a bit afraid.”
“I think I should be afraid,” said Winnie.
“Not if you loved Jesus,” answered the boy, with a sudden smile like sunshine lighting all his face.
“I think now I am glad to go, if it is His will to take me.”