Odd | Page 8

the door partly open, with a child's curiosity,
she pushed her way in, there to stand with admiring awe in the cool,
quiet atmosphere. It was a pretty old church, with stained glass
windows; and the sun streaming through sent flashing rays of red and
blue, golden and purple, across the old stone walls and oaken seats.
Betty felt she was in another world at once, and the very novelty and
strangeness of her surroundings had a great charm for her. Slowly she

made her way round the church, looking at every tablet and monument,
and trying in vain to decipher the writing upon them. But one amongst
them brought her to a standstill: it was the figure of a little girl
sculptured in white marble, lying in a recumbent position; her hands
were crossed on her breast, with a lily placed between them, her eyes
were closed, and her hair curled over her brow and round her shoulders
in the most natural way. Just above her was a stained glass window--a
beautiful representation of the Saviour taking the children in His arms
and blessing them. Below the window was written in plain black
letters,--
IN LOVING MEMORY OF VIOLET RUSSELL.
Aged six years.
'Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not.'
Betty drew a deep breath; her thoughts were busy. She wished herself
that little girl lying so calm and beautiful, with the red and golden rays
slanting across her; and then looking up at the window, she wished still
more that she was one of those happy children in the Lord's arms.
Looking up with tearful eyes, she clasped her hands, and let her
buttercups and bluebells fall to the ground unheeded.
'O God, I will be good! I will be good!'
Those were all the words uttered, but He who heard them looked down
into the overflowing heart, and knew all that lay behind them.
Long the child stood there, and then with flagging footsteps made her
way down the aisle.
'I'm very tired,' she murmured to herself; 'I'll just sit down inside that
pew.'
And a moment after, curling herself up on the cushions, Betty went fast
asleep.

She was dreaming soon of a wonderful white-robed throng; she saw the
little girl walk up with her white, still face to a golden throne, she tried
to follow, but could not manage to walk, and then the most wonderful
music began to sound; louder and clearer it came, until with a start she
opened her eyes and discovered where she was. Was it all a dream?
The music was still sounding in her ears, and sitting up she peered over
the edge of the high pew. There, seated at the organ, was a lady, and
she was pouring forth such a flood of melody and song that it did
indeed seem to the half-wakened child music straight from heaven.
Betty listened breathlessly to the words--words that she knew now so
well, and that were ever in her thoughts: 'These are they which came
out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes and made them
white in the blood of the Lamb.'
It was a beautiful anthem, and a beautiful voice that was singing. Betty
had never heard such singing before. She gazed with open mouth and
eyes; the lady was rather a young one, she noticed, and when her voice
rose in triumph and the organ pealed out in accompaniment, Betty saw
that her uplifted eyes, shining as they were with such a glad light
behind them, were full of tears.
'It's an angel,' she whispered to herself. And when at last the notes died
away, and there was stillness in the church, when she saw the lady's
face bowed in her hands, as if in prayer, Betty stole softly out of the
building, and retraced her steps along the road, sobbing as she went. It
had been too much for her excitable little brain; she always had been
passionately fond of music, but was more accustomed to the street
organs in London than to any other sort, and this was as great a contrast
to those as heaven is to earth.
It was a long way back, but Betty did not feel it. Had God sent an angel
to sing to her? Was there a chance of her ever being amongst that
white-robed throng? If she could only go through tribulation! Had the
little girl lying so white and still gone through it? These and other
similar puzzling thoughts came crowding through her brain.
She was very quiet when she reached the farm. They were just sitting

down to tea when she came in, and Mrs. Giles looked relieved when
she saw her.
'We was wonderin' where you had got to,' she said. 'Ain't