True admired it as much as he did, and would often come and stand and look at it with delight and awe.

'I wonder if I have a right to go inside,' she said. 'I love having a right to do things, then no one can stop me.'

'It's wearing a white robe gives you right,' said Bobby.

'Yes, and doing the Commandments,' responded True quickly; 'that's the differcult part. But I mean to be inside, not outside, I tell you that!'

Many delightful excursions did the children have with their father, but the summer days began to shorten and the sun appeared less often, and Mrs. Allonby kept them more at home. She herself did not get stronger.

Her appet.i.te failed. Gradually she came downstairs less, and kept in bed more. Mr. Allonby grew careworn and anxious, the doctor appeared very often, and still Bobby and True played together gleefully, with little idea of the black shadow that was going to fall upon their happy home.

Then one bright sunny morning True asked Mr. Allonby if he would give them a ride in his car.

He looked at her for an instant in silence, then said slowly:

'No, we must do without motor drives now; I am going to sell it.'

'Sell it! Oh, dad, you mustn't!'

'I must,' he said; 'I want to give your mother all the comfort and ease I can, and we are poor people. Besides, I shall have no heart for anything now.'

'Why?' questioned True.

'Don't ask so many questions,' Mr. Allonby said sharply, and he was so seldom vexed with them that the children looked at each other with dismayed faces.

Later that morning Mr. Allonby was wandering moodily up and down his strip of garden smoking his pipe; his head was bent, his hands loosely clasped behind him. Suddenly he felt a soft little hand take hold of one of his.

'Father, dear, do tell me about your sad finks. I know they're sad from your face.'

It was Bobby. His father looked down upon him for a minute, then without a word led him into a field which ran up at the back of their garden. He paced the whole length of the field with his little son before he spoke again, and then, leaning against a five-barred gate, he said heavily:

'I can't hold up against it, sonny! I was a worthless creature till she took me in hand, and now, when she is making something of me, when we are going to peg away together at the book which is going to make our fortune, she is going to leave me. I can't live without her! I shall go to the dogs!'

'Is it mother you mean? Oh, father, we won't let her leave us! Why does she want to go?'

'She doesn't; it is cruel fate. Bobby, my boy, life is an utter failure. Oh! I don't know what I am saying, or why I am talking like this. Your mother is dying fast, can't you see it? I hoped she was getting stronger, but the doctor says it has only been her strong will that has got her downstairs at all. Oh, Helen, you're too young, too full of life and spirit to be taken! I will not believe it!'

He folded his arms on the top bar of the gate and dropped his head upon them with a groan. Bobby stood perfectly still; the news was so astounding, so bewildering, that he could hardly take it in.

'Is mother going through the golden gate now?' he asked.

There was no answer. Then Bobby climbed up on the gate with a longing desire to comfort his father. He had never seen a grown-up person in trouble before, and it was with the greatest effort he prevented himself from bursting into tears.

'Father, dear, don't cry! It's a lovely thing when G.o.d calls people.

Mother tolded us herself last Sunday it was. And p'raps G.o.d will take her for a visit, and then send her back again. Is she reely going into heaven soon? Oh, wouldn't it be nice if we could all go with her! May I run and tell True; and may we just ask mother about it a little?'

'Leave me, child! Run away!' And when his pattering footsteps had died away Bobby's father said in bitterness of spirit: 'Heartless little scamp! He is enjoying the sensation of it!'

But he misunderstood Bobby. The child had never seen death, and did not understand it in the least; his vision was steadfastly fixed on the life hereafter. What wonder that the glories of it eclipsed the present shadow!

True received his news first incredulously, then stamped and stormed in helpless pa.s.sion.

'Mother shan't die! She shan't be put in the ground! Bobby, we'll keep her from going. Oh, mother, mother! we couldn't live without you!'

A burst of tears followed, in which Bobby joined her from very sympathy. Then softly they stole up the steep narrow stairs to their mother's room. They met Margot at the door.

'Oh dear!' she sighed, as she saw their faces, 'I s'ppose your father has been and told you. The missis is quite nicely this morning, and wants to see you. Now if you go in, no tears, mind--nothing to make her sad. You must make believe you're glad she's going, same as I do.'

A husky sob broke in the faithful servant's voice. She signed to the children to go in, and turned away abruptly herself.

Hand in hand, on tiptoe, they stole to their mother's bedside.

Surely she was better with such a pink colour in her cheeks! She smiled brightly at them, but her voice was weak and low.

'I haven't seen you for two days, darlings! Tell me what you've been doing.'

'I've been in the field with father,' said Bobby, taking one of Mrs.

Allonby's hands in his, and very gently raising it to his lips to kiss.

'We've comed to tell you that we are very glad you're going through the gates, but we would like you to ask G.o.d to let you come back to us very soon.'

Sudden tears came to Mrs. Allonby's eyes.

'I think you must come to me,' she said almost in a whisper.

'We should like to do that very much, said Bobby bravely. 'True and me are ready, we fink.'

'But, darlings,' went on Mrs. Allonby, 'you must not feel impatient if G.o.d does not send for you just yet. I want my little daughter to grow up to be a comfort to her father, to keep the house tidy, do his mending, have comfortable little meals for him, and let him always feel he has a home and a little daughter waiting for him.'

'And me?' questioned Bobby eagerly. 'What must I do for him? I belongs to him besides True.'

'You belong to him more than True does. I want you to be his little companion. Go out with him, talk to him, tell him about your lovely picture, let him feel he cannot get on without you. Oh, Bobby, dear, you love your father with all your heart and soul! Show it to him by your life. I want you two to be inseparable. I shall pray you may be.'

A glorious light dawned in Bobby's eyes. He caught Mrs. Allonby's meaning.

'I'll die for him if I can,' he said fervently; and deep down in his heart he meant what he said.

True stood looking at her mother with sadly pathetic eyes.

'When are you going, mother? Oh, I think G.o.d might do without you a little longer. I won't pretend I want you to go; I won't.'

'My little girl, I know you don't want me to leave you; and at first I felt just like you do. But I have been lying here talking to G.o.d, and He has been talking to me, and now I know that He makes no mistakes, and is doing the very best for all of us by taking me now. I shall look for you and father, and one day we shall be all together again, I hope, in that beautiful country that now seems so far away.'

There was a little silence in the room; then Mrs. Allonby turned to Bobby.

'Bobby, dear, will you say me that verse in that old Italian Bible of your grandmother's? Somehow, now I am so near the gates, it seems to bring me more comfort than our English version. I have so often broken G.o.d's commandments. But the other--is so simple--so comforting!'

Bobby repeated his favourite verse with glad a.s.surance.

'"Blessed are they that wash their robes in the blood of the Lamb, that they may have right to the tree of life, and enter in through the gates into the City."'