"Oh, maybe not, Master Treffy," said Christie, uneasily, "maybe not so fast as you think."
"The month's nearly up, Christie," said old Treffy; "and I think I'm getting very near the city, very near to 'Home, sweet Home.' I can almost see the letters over the gate sometimes, Christie."
But Christie could not answer. His face was buried in his hands, and his head sank lower and lower as he sat beside the fire. And, at length, though he tried to keep it in, there came a great sob, which reached old Treffy's heart. He put his hand lovingly on Christie's head, and for some time neither of them spoke. But when the heart is very sore, silence often does more to comfort than words can do, only it must be silence which comes from a full heart, not from an empty one. Treffy's old heart was very full of loving, yearning pity for poor little Christie.
"Christie, boy," he said, at length, "you wouldn't keep me outside the gate; would you?"
"No, no, Master Treffy," said Christie, "not for the world I wouldn't; but I do wish I was going in too."
"It seems to me, Christie, boy, the Lord has got some work for thee to do for Him first. I'm a poor, useless old man, Christie, very tottering and feeble, so He's going to take me home; but you have all your life before you, Christie, boy, haven't you?"
"Yes," said Christie, with a sigh, for he was thinking what a long, long time it would be before he was as old as Master Treffy, and before the golden gates would be opened to him.
"Wouldn't you like to do something for Him, Christie, boy," said old Treffy, "just to show you love Him?"
"Ay, Master Treffy, I should," said Christie, in a whisper.
"Christie, boy," said old Treffy, suddenly raising himself in bed, "I would give all I have; yes, all, Christie, even my old organ, and you know how I've loved her, Christie, but I'd give her up, her and everything else, to have one year of my life back again—one year—to show Him that I love Him. Just to think," he said regretfully, "that He gave His life for me, and died ever such a dreadful death for me, and I've only got a poor little miserable week left to show that I love Him. Oh, Christie, boy! oh, Christie, boy! it seems so ungrateful; I can't bear to think of it."