"Wherefore comfort one another with these words."
"Don't you wish Jesus would come to-night, father," said Salome, "and bring Simon, and Thomas, and Bartholomew, and Jude with Him? We would all go flying up to meet them then; wouldn't we, father?"
My father did not speak; but he took hold of Salome's thin hand and kissed it.
"She's always talking about that, Peter," said my mother. "Ever since you gave her that Testament, her head has been running on that.
"'Mother,' she says, 'would the angels take you?'
"'Jude,' she says, 'would you be taken, or left?'
"'Thomas,' she says, 'wouldn't it be nice if Jesus came to-day?'
"And the boys listened to her wonderful; they did, indeed. Simon, he talked a deal about it just before he died, and about his sins being washed away. I don't know much about it," said poor mother, crying more than ever; "I've toiled, and worked, and slaved to get you food and clothes, and to keep you clean and decent. But I haven't thought about these things as I should, and it seems to me, if the Lord was to come, the angels would be carrying you all away, and leaving me behind."
"And me!" said father, with another groan.
"Oh, no!" said little Salome, with all the strength she had. "Father and mother must come, too; mustn't they, Peter? Kneel down and ask Jesus to wash their sins away, and then He won't forget to send the angels for them when He comes in the sky."