Christie stopped at once; he was just in the midst of the chorus of "Home, sweet Home," and the organ gave a melancholy wail as he suddenly brought it to a conclusion.
"I am so sorry, missie," he said.
Mabel stood before him in silence for a minute or two, and Christie looked down upon her very pitifully and tenderly.
"Is she very bad, missie?" he said.
"Yes," said little Mabel, "I think she must be, papa looks so grave, and nurse won't let us play; and I heard her tell cook mother would never be any better," she added, with a little sob, which came from the bottom of her tiny heart.
"Poor little missie!" said Christie, sorrowfully; "poor little missie, don't fret so; oh, don't fret so!"
And as Christie stood looking down on the little girl a great tear rolled down his cheek and fell on her little white arm.
Mabel looked up suddenly.
"Christie," she said, "I think mother must be going to 'Home, sweet Home,' and I want to go too."
"So do I," said Christie, with a sigh, "but the gates won't open to me for a long, long time."