I can't help it."
"Oh, but, Kitty," Tip interrupted eagerly, "you don't know about it! He
helps you, Jesus does. When anything is the matter, when you feel cross
and bad, you just go and kneel down and tell Him all about it, and He
helps you every time. And up in heaven, where you can go when you die,
nobody ever gets cross and scolds. And it's beautiful there: they sing,
and have fountains, and wear gold crowns; and--and Johnny is there, you
know; and I'm going, and I _do_ want you to come along."
Kitty's face had been growing graver and graver with every word her
brother spoke, and when at last he stopped, with his eyes turned towards
Johnny's little grave, Kitty's shawl was crumpled up in her two hands and
held tightly to her face; and she was crying, not softly and quietly, but
rocking herself back and forth, and giving way to great sobs which shook
her little form.
Tip looked distressed; he didn't know what to say next; he stooped down
to her at last, and spoke softly: "Oh, Kitty, I'm sorry for you! if you
only _would_ love Jesus, it would make you happy.
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