"'Tis real good fur me, though, Connie. I used to pine sore fur the country; but it have come hover me lately that in winter it 'ud be dull—scarcely any flowers, and no birds singing, nor nothink. Now, in heaven there's no winter. 'A land o' pure delight,' the hymn calls it, 'and never-withering flowers.' So you see, Connie, heaven must be a sight better than the country, and of course I'd rayther go there; only I'm thinking as 'tis sech a pity 'bout Sue."
"Yes, I wish as Sue was home," said Connie.
"Connie dear, couldn't we send her a message to come straight home to me now? I'm so feared as she'll fret real hard ef she comes wid news of that cottage and finds me gone."
"I'll look fur her; I will find her," said Connie with sudden energy. Then she rose and drew down the blinds.
"I'll find Sue ef I can, Giles; and now you will go to sleep."
"Will you sing to me? When you sing, and I drop off to sleep listening, I allers dream arterwards of heaven."
"What shall I sing?"
"'There is a land of pure delight.'"