"What is it she wants?" asked Lem.
"She says she wants to be an angel."
"Want to be an angel," moaned Dolly again. "Somebody loves the angels—up in His place—not tired there—rest for the weary; that's tired folks—that's me. I'm so tired—want to be an angel."
"Dolly," said Mrs. Stanton, not knowing if the girl could understand her, yet hoping that she might even now speak a word in season, "Dolly, you may be an angel some day if you will come to Jesus. He wants you to come and love Him. He wants you to be a good girl so that He may take you to His heaven, where there will be no more pain or sorrow, where you will never be tired, where you will be an angel. Will you love Him, Dolly; will you be a good girl, and try to please Him?"
"Don't love me," said Dolly, who, with her eyes fixed on the lady's face, had grown quiet, and really seemed to understand what she was saying; "loves little gals, maybe, what sings: they has nice frocks, and I aint fit for His beautiful place."
"Jesus will make you clean and white, and fit for His heaven, if you ask Him, Dolly. He does love you. He is waiting for you to come to Him."
"Little gals said He loved me; but can't ask Him, He don't come here."
"Yes, He does, Dolly. He is here now. You cannot see Him; but He sees you, and is sorry for you. Shall we ask Him to make you fit for heaven?"
"Yes," said Dolly.
"Dear Jesus," said the lady, "we ask Thee to give this little girl a new, clean heart, and to make her fit to live with Thee"—