"For Jesus!" said the boy reverently.
"But he is not here. He is risen."
"Yes, I know, that's it, but I've been waiting here all day for Him to come and raise my papa up. He's late, and I thought maybe He sent you to tell me to wait a little, just as He sent Mary to tell His disciples, you know," said the boy, wistfully.
"Yes, dear, but"—hesitating to shatter the boy's beautiful faith.
"I am tired" (pathetically), "but it is never too late for Jesus," he added bravely, while a tear rolled down the velvet cheek. "He is sure to come, 'cause it is the Rising Day" (exultingly). "Don't you 'member?"
The woman stooped to kiss the child, and began to sob violently, dropping on the grave beside him.
"What makes you cry, lady? Is your papa here to be raised up?"
"No, no, darling, but my sweet daughter is."
"Don't cry, then," stroking the lady's hand. "Jesus never goes by Rising Day. He'll surely come and give you your little girl and me my papa! He'll come to-night. I saw the two men who came from [256:A]Emmaus go by early this morning, and they will be walking back soon in the evening, and Jesus will meet them and turn and walk with them, and they will all be talking gently about the dying and the rising, and the men will not know Him, but I shall, and He will stop here when I call, and raise my papa up."
"How will you know Him, dear boy?"