Kitty looked steadily and gravely at her brother. "What do you mean by 'be a Christian?'" she asked at last.
"I mean love Jesus, and do as He says."
"What'll I love Him for?"
"'Cause you can't help it, when you find out how much He loves you, and all the things He does for you."
"What does He say do?"
"He says be good; try to do right things all the time."
Kitty's eyes flashed. "Now, ain't you mean," she said angrily, "to come and tell me such things, when you know I ain't good, and can't be good? Isn't mother ugly and cross and scolding to me all the time? and don't I have to work and work, always, and never have anything? And I'm cross and get mad, and I will, too. I can't help it."
"Oh, but, Kitty," Tip interrupted eagerly, "you don't know about it! He helps you, Jesus does. When anything is the matter, when you feel cross and bad, you just go and kneel down and tell Him all about it, and He helps you every time. And up in heaven, where you can go when you die, nobody ever gets cross and scolds. And it's beautiful there: they sing, and have fountains, and wear gold crowns; and—and Johnny is there, you know; and I'm going, and I do want you to come along."
Kitty's face had been growing graver and graver with every word her brother spoke, and when at last he stopped, with his eyes turned towards Johnny's little grave, Kitty's shawl was crumpled up in her two hands and held tightly to her face; and she was crying, not softly and quietly, but rocking herself back and forth, and giving way to great sobs which shook her little form.
Tip looked distressed; he didn't know what to say next; he stooped down to her at last, and spoke softly: "Oh, Kitty, I'm sorry for you! if you only would love Jesus, it would make you happy."