"Elsie, it was your dear mother, who has never ceased to love you and to look for you all these years, and has kept the home so pretty and comfortable, waiting for you to come back."
"Where is mother? Don't, oh! don't tell me she is here."
"No, dear, she is at home. It is nearly a year since she asked me to try to find you."
"Elsie do you love Jesus?" I continued. "Have you asked him to forgive you?"
"It's too late, I've been too bad."
"We have all sinned, Elsie. 'All have come short of the glory of God.'
May I pray for you?"
"Yes, if you think he'll hear."
After my prayer she offered one—so short but oh! so contrite, so very, very contrite.
I called again the next day. She could barely speak even in a whisper, but she managed to let me know that she had had a beautiful dream and that after her death I was to write her mother that Elsie's last words to me were, "Tell mother I'll meet her in heaven," but not to let her know when and where her daughter died. She passed away that night. The letter to the mother was very brief, and no address given, so that there was no opportunity of subsequent correspondence. Three months later news came to me that the poor, loving, well-meaning, though mistaken mother had gone to join her dearly loved, lost and found Elsie in that "land that is fairer than day."