Winifred thought a little, and by-and-by she said:
“Do you think it is always Sunday in heaven Charley?”
“I don’t know, Winnie; what makes you think about heaven?”
“I often think about it now, and to-day it just seems as if everything was like heaven. I wonder if it will always be Sunday there?”
Charley made no answer.
“I suppose it will, because, you see, Sunday is God’s day, and in heaven all days will be God’s, won’t they?”
“I suppose so.”
Winifred pursued the thought a little farther, and then added thoughtfully:
“Every day ought to be God’s day here, too, Charley, I think, only we don’t remember to make them so.”
“We couldn’t do with Sundays all the week, Winnie,” answered the boy. “The work would never get done at that rate.”