"I like 'Home, sweet Home,'" she said; "it's such a pretty tune."
"Yes," said Christie, "it's my favorite, missie. Where is 'Home, sweet Home'?" he asked suddenly, as he remembered his promise to old Treffy.
"That's my home," said little Mabel, nodding her head in the direction of the pretty house. "I don't know where yours is, Christie."
"I haven't much of a place to call home, missie," said Christie; "me and old Treffy, we live together in an old attic, and that won't be for long,—only another month, Miss Mabel, and I shall have no home then."
"Poor organ-boy,—poor Christie!" said little Mabel, in a pitying voice.
Charlie had taken the handle of the organ now, and was rejoicing in "Poor Mary Ann;" but Mabel hardly listened to him; she was thinking of the poor boy who had no home but an attic, and who soon would have no home at all.
"There's another home somewhere," said Christie, "isn't there, missie? Isn't heaven some sort of a home?"
"Oh, yes, there's heaven," said little Mabel, brightly; "you'll have a home there, won't you, organ-boy?"
"Where is heaven?" said Christie.
"It's up there," said little Mabel, pointing up to the sky; "up so high, Christie. The little stars live in heaven; I used to think they were the angels' eyes, but nurse says it's silly to think that."