"By His smile and the Transfiguration picture that papa showed me in his study. But I'll know Him bestest in here," putting his hand on his breast, "by the love!" raising his lustrous eyes to hers.
"Will you know your papa? Are you sure?"
"My papa!" with wondering ecstatic voice. "My own papa! I shall know him by the love, and you your little girl. They will not look the same, 'cause Jesus didn't, but they knew Him by their love!"
"Yes?"
"And we'll know them by our love!" lingering fondly on the repetition with lustrous, far-seeing gaze.
The woman clasped the child to her breast with a passionate embrace, while rising to meet a supreme hour. (The child must not—shall not be disappointed and his beautiful faith shattered).
"Phillip!" she said, "listen. The angel sent me to tell you that Jesus had gone into heaven, and to take you to your papa. Come!"
Without a moment's hesitation he took his messenger's (?) hand and passed out of the gates, looking not backward by a glance. Expectation held him silent, while the woman's face was illumined by a great light. Entering the door of a pleasant house, she passed on through the hall into the dining-room, saying to the maid: "Bring some food for this dear child; he has fasted all day."
A pitcher of milk and a plate of bread and honey were set beside a plate of cold, broiled fish.
"Now I know this is the house," the boy exclaimed exultingly, "for they had the fish, the bread and the honey! It's all here, just the same, and he'll come to-night!"