“Then don’t he need me?” asked Budge, with a pathetic look of inquiry.
“Certainly, dear,” said Mrs. Burton; “but he wants you to make other people happy first. A great many good people are left in the world for the same reason.”
“Then why couldn’t Jesus be left?” said Budge. “He could make people happier than every one else put together.”
“You’ll understand why, when you grow older,” said Mrs. Burton.
“I wish I’d hurry up about it and grow, then,” said Budge. “Why can’t little boys grow just like little flowers do?—just be put in the ground an’ watered and hoed? Our ’paragus grows half-a-foot in a day almost.”
“You’s a dyty boy to want to be put in de dyte, Budgie,” said Toddie, “an’ I isn’t goin’ to play wif you any more. Mamma says I mustn’t play wif dyty little boys.”
“Dirty boy yourself!” retorted Budge. “You like to play in the dirt, only you cry whenever anybody comes with water to put on you. Say, Aunt Alice, how long does people have to stay in the ground when they die before they go to heaven?”
“Three days, I suppose, Budge,” said Mrs. Burton.
“An’ does everybody that the Lord loves go up to heaven?”
“Yes, dear.”