“If you love me, you must not interrupt me so.  Listen to what I say.  I want to speak to you about your souls. . . .  Many of you, I am afraid, are very careless.  You are thinking only about this world.  I want you to remember that there is a beautiful world, where Jesus is.  I am going there, and you can go there.  It is for you, as much as me.  But, if you want to go there, you must not live idle, careless, thoughtless lives.  You must be Christians.  You must remember that each one of you can become angels, and be angels forever. . . .  If you want to be Christians, Jesus will help you.  You must pray to him; you must read—­”

The child checked herself, looked piteously at them, and said, sorrowfully,

“O dear! you can’t read—­poor souls!” and she hid her face in the pillow and sobbed, while many a smothered sob from those she was addressing, who were kneeling on the floor, aroused her.

“Never mind,” she said, raising her face and smiling brightly through her tears, “I have prayed for you; and I know Jesus will help you, even if you can’t read.  Try all to do the best you can; pray every day; ask Him to help you, and get the Bible read to you whenever you can; and I think I shall see you all in heaven.”

“Amen,” was the murmured response from the lips of Tom and Mammy, and some of the elder ones, who belonged to the Methodist church.  The younger and more thoughtless ones, for the time completely overcome, were sobbing, with their heads bowed upon their knees.

“I know,” said Eva, “you all love me.”

“Yes; oh, yes! indeed we do!  Lord bless her!” was the involuntary answer of all.

“Yes, I know you do!  There isn’t one of you that hasn’t always been very kind to me; and I want to give you something that, when you look at, you shall always remember me, I’m going to give all of you a curl of my hair; and, when you look at it, think that I loved you and am gone to heaven, and that I want to see you all there.”

It is impossible to describe the scene, as, with tears and sobs, they gathered round the little creature, and took from her hands what seemed to them a last mark of her love.  They fell on their knees; they sobbed, and prayed, and kissed the hem of her garment; and the elder ones poured forth words of endearment, mingled in prayers and blessings, after the manner of their susceptible race.

As each one took their gift, Miss Ophelia, who was apprehensive for the effect of all this excitement on her little patient, signed to each one to pass out of the apartment.

At last, all were gone but Tom and Mammy.

“Here, Uncle Tom,” said Eva, “is a beautiful one for you.  O, I am so happy, Uncle Tom, to think I shall see you in heaven,—­for I’m sure I shall; and Mammy,—­dear, good, kind Mammy!” she said, fondly throwing her arms round her old nurse,—­“I know you’ll be there, too.”

“O, Miss Eva, don’t see how I can live without ye, no how!” said the faithful creature. “’Pears like it’s just taking everything off the place to oncet!” and Mammy gave way to a passion of grief.