“No: I guess not,” said Bessie. “I s’pose mother-angels take care of their little children. I’ll go with you, Belle dear, if you’re quite sure your papa will let us.”
“I know he would, Bessie; and I’d just as lief ask him; only then Maggie and Lily will come too. I’d like Maggie to come, but Lily laughs so much. I love Lily; but I don’t want any one to laugh where my mamma is dead.”
“No,” said Bessie, with the most caressing tenderness of tone and manner, “they shan’t; and I’ll go, Belle.”
With their arms about one another’s necks, the two little things ran down the piazza steps, and the shady path, through which Belle led the way; but as they came near the small burying-ground, their steps grew slow and more reverent.
It was an exquisite spot. An iron railing enclosed it, but the rails were hidden by the green vines which overran them, and within it was beautifully sodded; the green broken here and there by the white marble monuments and slabs which marked the resting-place of Belle’s relations. Flowers of the loveliest kinds were blossoming over and around them, and all showed the utmost care and loving remembrance. Over the entrance was an arch, also of white marble, and on the stone were cut the words, “He giveth His beloved sleep.”
“How sweet it is!” exclaimed Bessie, struck at once with the lovely quiet and peace of the place; and then she looked up and spelled out the letters on the arch.
“Sleep! that was what mamma said: it was only like a sleep if we loved Jesus and tried to do what He wanted us to, and I think it must mean Him when it says, ‘giveth His beloved sleep.’ What dear words! are they not, Belle?”
“Yes,” said Belle, but without paying much attention to what Bessie was saying, for her eye had caught sight of a new object in the enclosure.
“See!” she went on, catching Bessie by the arm: “there’s a stone there where they put mamma;” and drawing Bessie with her, she pushed open the light gate.