"You have a Father in heaven," said John, kissing Charley as he evaded the earnest question.
"When did he die? I want you to tell me all about him, cousin John, because Tommy Fritz sits next me at school and teases me so about not having any papa."
"Fritz?" repeated John, turning to Gertrude; "Fritz?—the name sounds familiar. Where could I have heard it? Fritz?" and John paced up and down the room, trying to remember.
"Yes, Tommy Fritz," repeated Charley; "and Tommy's big brother comes to school with him some days, and he saw me, and told Tommy that I hadn't any papa."
"Did you say any thing to your mamma about it?" asked John.
"No," said Charley, with a very resolute shake of the head, "because it always makes mamma look so sad when I talk to her about papa; but I don't want Tommy to plague me any more. Is it bad not to have a papa, cousin John?"
"There are a great many little boys whose papas are dead," said John. "Yes, it is bad for them, because they feel lonesome without them, just as you do."
Charley looked very earnestly in John's face, as if he were not satisfied with his answer, and yet as if he did not know how better to make himself understood. Looking thoughtfully on the ground a few moments, he said—
"Was my papa good, cousin John?"