That unchangeable home is for you and for me,
    Where Jesus of Nazareth stands;
    The King of all kingdoms forever is He,
    And He holdeth our crowns in His hands.

    Oh, how sweet it will be in that beautiful land,
    So free from all sorrow and pain,
    With songs on our lips and with harps in our hands,
    To meet one another again!”

“That must be the place, grandpa, for it says Jesus is there, and that we’ll meet one another again.”

“Yes, yes, child, it’s the place, I’m mighty sure of that, and I’m so glad we’re a-goin’ to find it.  I’ll like it so much better than the city.  I wonder I ain’t gone before.”

The two sang and talked till the twilight began to fall, then they heard Mrs. Gray shuffling up the stairs.

“Now don’t fergit and tell, Rosa,” hurriedly whispered grandpa.

“Oh, no indeed, and we’ll go the very first chance we have.  Won’t mother be glad to see us?”

“Land sakes, Rosa, you look and act a heap like you’d jest lost your ma.  I heard that fiddle and you a-singin’ with grandpa long before I got up the steps.  But it is real lucky fer you, though, that I’ll have you to manage till spring.  You’ll learn how to do somethin’ a-stayin’ here with me, or I’ll miss my guess.

“Why ain’t you got a brisker fire started up fer supper?  Do it right this minute.  It’ll be somethin’ new fer you to have a cooked meal every day, and sometimes two or three of them.  But you’ll have to earn them first, or eat by yourself, and jest what you can git.

“I ain’t a-goin’ to keep you fer nothin’.  Hurry up now, fer I’m cold, and my ankle’s ‘most a-killin’ me.  Father’d ought to be shook yet, fer causin’ me so much trouble.  No tellin’ how much longer it’ll pain me, and I shouldn’t wonder if it’d lay me up.”

Thus rudely was Rosa’s reverie broken in upon, bringing her face to face with her present dingy surroundings in general, and with Mrs. Gray in particular.  Her first impulse was to run home, then in agony she remembered that her mother was not there.

Patiently she worked away till the fire was started.  Mrs. Gray’s bulky form in the meantime was swinging energetically back and forth in the one rocking chair of her two-room apartment, while her voluble tongue wagged mercilessly on.

“You can cook them potatoes and fry some mush and make me a cup of tea.  You and father can drink water; tea ain’t good fer children nohow, ha, ha!

“Ugh, this fire feels good!  I’m glad I ain’t where your ma is tonight.”

“Why, Mis’ Gray,” half sobbed Rosa, “didn’t mother go to the beautiful land?”

“You be still and git supper, and don’t ask me no questions!”

“There, there, dearie, don’t cry!  Of course your ma went there.”  It was grandpa who spoke.

“A heap you know about it, father, and I jest want you to keep still, too!

“Look out there!  Don’t you spatter no grease a-fryin’ that mush, or you’ll wish you hadn’t.  I believe in the good old-fashioned rod, and there’s one stuck up over that door, handy like.  See it?”