“Mamma,” said Winifred once, “I am very happy, I haven’t any pain—I’m so glad God takes care of little things—swallows, you know—and children. He will take care of me, I know.”
“My darling is not afraid to go to Him, then?” asked the mother very gently.
“Oh no—not now.”
Talking was very hard, her tongue seemed heavy, and only whispers came from between the parted lips. A strange singing filled the child’s ears.
Father and mother bent over the little one and kissed her, oh, so tenderly and so lovingly!—but they did not cry. Winnie was glad that they did not cry.
“Into Thy Hands, O most loving Father—”
Was it her father’s voice speaking thus? The child thought so, but could not tell, for a rushing sound as of many wings seemed to fill the air drowning the voice that still spoke in solemn tones.
“The swallows!” she tried to say—“the swallows—they are going—at last—” but with that strange rushing of wings mingled another and a sweeter sound, that made Winnie clasp her hands and look up with a smile on her little white face.
“It is my angel—come for me—I am not afraid to go—now. Did God send you for me, angel?—I am ready.”
In the morning there were no swallows in the water-meadows—they had all flown away in the night; and one little blood washed soul had flown in at Heaven’s wide gate to rest for evermore in the care of the Heavenly Father, who watches over little helpless things, and thinks no child that trusts His love too small or weak to be taken in to the eternal Home at last.