"--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!"
"Haven't I tried to help you, father, oh, so many times?" said
Mary.
"Yes--yes--you've always tried."
"But it wasn't any use. You would go out--you would go to the
tavern. It seemed most as if you couldn't help it."
Morgan groaned in spirit.
"Maybe I can help you better, father, after I die. I love you so
much, that I am sure God will let me come to you, and stay with
you always, and be your angel. Don't you think he will, mother?"
But Mrs. Morgan's heart was too full. She did not even try to
answer, but sat, with streaming eyes, gazing upon her child's
face.
"Father. I dreamed something about you, while I slept to-day."
Mary again turned to her father.
"What was it, dear?"
"I thought it was night, and that I was still sick. You promised
not to go out again until I was well. But you did go out; and I
thought you went over to Mr. Slade's tavern. When I knew this, I
felt as strong as when I was well, and I got up and dressed
myself, and started out after you.
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