"See God take the baby up to heaven," sobbed the child.
"But he is in heaven now," replied aunt Madge.
"O, no, he hasn't gone a single step. I saw him on the bed. They haven't put his wings on yet!"
Aunt Madge was puzzled, and hardly knew what to say, for it is not easy to make such very little children know the difference between the body, which goes back to dust, and the spirit, which goes to God who gave it.
She talked a long while, but I doubt if Prudy understood one word, for when the casket which held the form of little Harry was buried in the garden, she cried because the earth was heaped over it.
"What makes 'em do it?" she asked, "he can't get to heaven through all that dirt!"
But by and by, when days passed, and there was no longer a baby in the house, Prudy began to think of him as one of the angels. And one morning she told a beautiful dream which she thought she had had, though she sometimes called her thoughts dreams.
"O," said she, "I dreamed about my angel! He had stars all round his head, and he flowed in the air like a bird. There was ever so many little angels with him, and some of 'em sang. They didn't sing sorry; they was singing, 'The Little Boy that died.' And, aunt 'Ria, I guess you wouldn't cry if you could see how happy they were!"
"No, no," sobbed poor aunt 'Ria, holding Prudy close in her arms, which she said felt "so empty" now, "it can't be right to cry, can it, Prudy, when I know my baby is so happy in heaven?"