"
"My darling," said Richards, "come and sit down by me, and I'll tell you
a story."
With a quick perception that it was intended to relate to what she had
asked, little Florence sat down on a stool at the nurse's feet, looking
up into her face.
"Once upon a time," said Richards, "there was a lady--a very good lady,
and her little daughter dearly loved her--who, when God thought it right
that it should be so, was taken ill, and died. Died, never to be seen
again by anyone on earth, and was buried in the ground where the
trees grow."
"The cold ground," said the child, shuddering.
"No, the warm ground," returned Polly, seizing her advantage, "where the
ugly little seeds turn into beautiful flowers, and into grass, and into
corn, and I don't know what all besides. Where good people turn into
bright angels, and fly away to heaven!"
The child who had drooped her head, raised it again, and sat looking at
her intently.
"So; let me see," said Polly, not a little flurried between this earnest
scrutiny, her desire to comfort the child, her sudden success, and her
very slight confidence in her own powers. "So, when this lady died, she
went to God! and she prayed to Him, this lady did," said Polly,
affecting herself beyond measure, being heartily in earnest, "to teach
her little daughter to be sure of that in her heart; and to know that
she was happy there, and loved her still; and to hope and try--oh, all
her life--to meet her there one day, never, never, never to part
any more.
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