stops, for her sister Mary is weeding one of the pretty borders in the little garden.

"O Mary! grannie thinks just as you do about heaven; I don't think Mr. Brown knows so much about it as she does."

"Why not, Nannie?"

"Oh, because grannie is almost there, Mary,—she ought to know!"

"What makes you think grannie is almost there?"

"Why, she said so; and then she loves to hear about heaven, just as I did about home when I was at Aunt Sarah's."

"Do you like to hear about heaven, Nannie?"

"Sometimes," she answered, while with her little shoe she played with the pebbles.

"Not always! Nannie; when don't you like to hear about it?"

Nannie played with the pebbles a good while. At last she said, "I like to hear some things about it always, but not everything."

"And what do you like to hear about it always?"

"I like to hear about golden streets, and the beautiful water, and the trees, and the harps of the angels, and their golden crowns."

"And what don't you like to hear about?"

The little foot moved backwards and forwards a good while, and when Nannie did speak, she spoke almost as if she were afraid to do so.

"I don't like to hear about its always being Sunday there."

"Why, Nannie, don't you like Sunday here?"

"Why, yes, always once a week; but that's not like always. I don't think I should like to go to church every day, and learn the Catechism, and have a cold dinner, and not play at all."

"Maybe I can help you a little, Nannie. Do you ever get tired of loving father?"

"Why, no; I should never get tired of that, I'm sure he never gets tired of loving me."

"Do you get tired of showing you love him by trying to please him?"

"No, Mary; but—"

"Never mind the 'buts' till I have done. Now, God is 'Our Father,' and all we have to do in heaven is to love him, and to show how very much we love him by trying to do all we can to please him. Do you think you'll get tired of that?"

"No. But that isn't like Sunday."

"What do we do on Sunday, Nannie?"

"Why, go to church and—"

"Yes; but what do we go to church for?"

"Oh, I see now!" said Nannie, her face brightening up,—"oh, I see! We worship God on Sunday, and that's what we'll do always in heaven; isn't it, Mary?"

"Yes, that's why we say it's always Sunday there; and we shall love God so much better there than we do now, that we can only be happy in praising him. Even now, when we think how good he is to us, and how he loves us, it seems as if we must praise him; but then we shall see him always, and never forget what he has done for us. Do you think we can help praising him, or that it will be hard work to join with the angels in singing, 'Holy, holy, Lord God Almighty'—'Worthy is the Lamb that was slain'? Do you think you understand now, Nannie, and will like to hear about heaven as much as Grannie Burt does?"

"Oh yes! I felt very sorry, because I knew I ought to love to think about heaven! And so I think I do. But Belle said they did nothing but sing hymns there, and she didn't see what there was so very pleasant in that."

"Belle ought not to talk so. But what did you say to her?"

"I said," Nannie answered, holding down her head, "I thought the reason she didn't like it was because she was not good; because all good people liked to hear about heaven."

"That's the reason, I think," said sister Mary, as she gathered up her weeds for Nannie to take away. Nannie carried them off, thinking all the time, "Oh dear, I wish I were as good as sister Mary!" If wishes would make any one good, Nannie would have been very good long before this time. "At anyrate," said Nannie, as she emptied the weeds into the ash-heap, "I will try. Father says there are weeds in our hearts, and we can pull them up. I mean to try."

We shall see in the next chapter how Nannie succeeds in pulling up the weeds.