And then, because I had got over losing him, and could not remember very
well what he had been like, I went and sat on the edge of Nellie’s wide
bed, and I cried against the cleanness of her cotton nightgown.
She patted my head, with rough old hands. “There, child,” she said. “You
mustn’t sorrow over him. He’s a little angel in Heaven and I often think
your mother must be glad to have him to keep her company. He might have
grown to be a disappointment to you—and now he’s safe with God. In His
own time you’ll see him again in Heaven. . . .”
The gentle voice was altogether cheerful. Heaven was to her as real a
place as was to me the advertising department where I spent my days.