One evening about six o'clock she came home, swinging her empty basket in her hand and singing softly a merry song from sheer gladness thinking also of the dear face upstairs that would brighten up to welcome her, as it ever did, when, as she entered the doorway, she stumbled over poor little Jimmy, crouching as usual just inside the entrance.
"There ain't nobody at home, Pollie," he said; "yer mother has gone to help Lizzie Stevens carry to the shop a real heap of work."
"I daresay Mrs. Flanagan is in her room," said the child.
"No, she ain't neither," replied Jimmy, "for I see'd her go out to the market; I know, 'cos she took her great basket with her."
"Oh then!" exclaimed Pollie, laughing, "I must just let myself in, and wait for mother; I know where she puts our key. Good-night, Jimmy dear."
And she was going up the stairs when she felt the little cripple boy gently pull her frock to detain her.
"I say, Pollie," he said hesitatingly, "I be so lonesome here, will yer mind biding with me and telling me about the kingdom of heaven, and that good man what took such as you and me in his arms—like you told me t'other day?"
"Oh yes, Jimmy, that I will," cried the little girl; "here, let us sit on this lowest stair; I don't think many people will be passing up now, and then I shall see mother when she comes in."
The poor ragged outcast crept near to his tiny friend as she requested, and then sat looking up into her bright face, whilst in simple words such as a child would use she told him that sweet story of old—of our Saviour, a babe in the manger of Bethlehem—His loving tenderness to us—of His death upon the Cross for our redemption—of His glorious resurrection and ascension to heaven, whither He has gone to prepare a place for those who love and believe Him.
"And does He want me in that beautiful land?" asked the awe-struck boy, almost in a whisper.