Mamie said these last words in a tone of some triumph, very different from the rather subdued way in which she had spoken before, and Belle was much shocked.
"O Mamie!" she said; "s'pose your mamma was to go away from you to heaven."
Mamie turned and looked at her mother, who was leaning back in her chair with a languid, weary air; and, smitten with a sudden fit of remorse for many past offences in the way of fretting and "fussing,"—one no longer ago than this very morning,—she rushed at her and half smothered her with penitent kisses; then, without giving her any explanation of this unexpected burst of affection, she returned to her conversation with Belle.
"I don't see how I'm to remember always about God noticing what I do," she said.
"That is bad habits," answered Belle. "You've never been accustomed to it, and so it seems hard at first. But you know that text, 'Thou God seest me.' Take that to remember by."
"I don't want to," said Mamie, with a disdainful shrug of her shoulders; "that's too old-fashioned. I've known that ever since I was born. (I'd rather have something new.")
"There's a Bible verse I had the other Sunday," said Belle, "that means the same, I believe. Maybe you'd like that."
"Let's hear it," said Mamie, with an appearance of real interest.