"There'll be nobody to go for you, father." The child's lips now quivered, and tears filled into her eyes.
"Don't talk about that, Mary. I'm not going out in the evening any more until you get well. Don't you remember I promised?"
"But, father"—She hesitated.
"What, dear?"
"I'm going away to leave you and mother."
"Oh, no—no—no, Mary! Don't say that."—The poor man's voice was broken.—"Don't say that! We can't let you go, dear."
"God has called me." The child's voice had a solemn tone, and her eyes turned reverently upward.
"I wish He would call me! Oh, I wish He would call me!" groaned Morgan, hiding his face in his hands. "What shall I do when you are gone? Oh, dear! Oh. dear!"
"Father!" Mary spoke calmly again. "You are not ready to go yet. God will let you live here longer, that you may get ready."
"How can I get ready without you to help me, Mary? My angel child!"