"No, Charlie. Why?" said she.
"Well, so many people are so bad,—swearing and getting drunk. Suppose I should turn out that way. Really, I wish I'd die while I'm little."
"So do I," said Bessie.
"Why children, children, you must not talk that way. What would your papa and I do?" said their mother, almost choking on her words, for Charlie had said that a number of times before. "Who made you?" she asked.
"God" they answered.
"Well then," continued their mamma, "you ought to want to live as long as you can, so you could serve Him more. He wants us to do all the good we can."
Both children went into the sitting room, and Charlie got his little account book and figured up how much money he had on interest, and how much the interest was, and counted how much he had in his bank, and then added it all up together. "Bessie" he said, "when I get big I'm going to go to college and pay my own way. See if I don't." Then they played together till they got into a little difficulty, and both ran out to "tell mamma" all about it.
That night Bessie did not go to sleep as soon as usual. 'Twas the same the night before. She seemed troubled. Her mamma thought she was sick. Presently Charlie suggested, "Mamma, I'll bet I know what's the matter with Bessie."
"Well, why don't you tell me, Charlie? I do want to know," said their mamma.
"Bessie wants to join the church," he replied, and his little sister began crying in earnest, and soon cried herself to sleep.