"I 'ave seen the Queen," said Flo that night to Miss Mary. "I shall get
well now."
She was lying on her back, the lustrous light, partly of fever and
partly of excitement, still shining in her eyes.
"Do you want to get well very much, Flo?" asked the lady.
"Yes--fur some things."
"What things?"
"I wants fur to help Dick wen 'ee gets hout of that prison school, and I
wants fur to tidy up fur Mrs Jenks the day 'er lad comes 'ome, and I
wants to do something fur you, Miss Mary."
"To be my little servant?"
"Yes."
"Do you remember what I said to you when first I asked you to be my
servant?"
"I must be God's servant."
"Just so, dear child, and I believe fully you have tried to be His
servant--He knows that, and He has sent you a message; but before I give
it to you, I want to ask you a question--why do you suppose that having
seen the Queen will make you well?"
"Oh! not _seein'_ 'er--but she looked real kind-'earted, and though I
didn't ax 'er, I knows she be prayin' to God fur me."
"Yes, Flo, it is very likely the Queen did send up a little prayer to
God for you. There are many praying for you, my child. You pray for
yourself, and I pray for you, and so does Mrs Jenks, and better than
all, the Lord Christ is ever interceding for you."
"Then I'll soon be well," said Flo.
"Yes, you shall soon be well--but, Flo, there are two ways of getting
well."
"Two, Miss Mary?"
"Yes; there is the getting well to be ill again by and by--to suffer
pain again, and sickness again--that is the earthly way."
Flo was silent.
"But," continued the lady, "there is a better way. There is a way of
getting so well, that pain, and sickness, and trouble, and death, are
done away with for ever--that is the heavenly way."
"Yes," whispered Flo.
"Which should you like best?"
"To be well for ever-'n-ever."
"Flo, shall I give you God's message?"
"Please."
"He says that His little servant shall get quite well--quite well in the
best way--you are to go up to serve Him in heaven. God is coming to
fetch you, Flo."
"To live up in the gold streets wid Himself?" asked Flo in a bright,
excited manner.
"Yes, He is coming to fetch you--perhaps He may come for you to-night."
"I shall see God to-night," said Flo, and she closed her eyes and lay
very still.
So white and motionless was the little face that Miss Graham thought she
had fainted; but this was not so; the child was thinking. Her intellect
was quite clear, her perceptions as keen as ever. She was trying to
realise this wonderful news.
She should see God to-night.
It was strange that during all her illness the idea of getting well in
this way had never hitherto occurred to her--she had suffered so little
pain, she had been so much worse before--she had never supposed that
this weakness, this breathlessness, could mean death--this sinking of
that fluttering little heart, could mean that it was going to stop!
A sudden and great joy stole over her--she was going to God--He was
coming Himself to fetch her--she should lie in His arms and look in His
face, and be always with Him.
"Are you glad, Flo?" asked Miss Mary, who saw her smile.
"Yes."
"I have another message for you. When Dick comes out of the prison
school, I am to take care of him--God wishes that."
"You will tell him about God."
"Certainly, I shall do that--and, Flo, I feel it will be all right about
the widow's son."
"Yes, God'll make it right,"--then, after a pause, going back to the
older memories, "I'd _like_ to 'ear the Glory Song."
"What is that, darling?"
"Oh! you knows--`I'm glad--I hever--'"
"`Saw the day'?" finished Miss Mary.
"Yes, that's it. Poor Janey didn't know wot it meant--'tis 'bout God."
"Shall I sing it for you?"
"Yes--please."
Miss Mary did so; but when she came to the words, "I'll sing while
mounting through the air To Glory, Glory, Glory," Flo stopped her.
"That's wot I'll do--sing--wile mountin'--'tis hall glory."
And then again she lay still with closed eyes.
During that night Mrs Jenks and Miss Mary watched her, as she lay
gently breathing her earthly life away.
Surely there was no pain in her death--neither pain nor sorrow. A quiet
passing into a better Land. An anchoring of the little soul, washed
white in the Blood of the Lamb, on a Rock that could never be moved.
Just before she died she murmured something about the Queen.
"Tell 'er--ef she 'ears o' me--not to fret--I'm well--the best way--and
'tis hall glory."
So it was.