"But, father"—She hesitated.
"What, dear?"
"I'm going away to leave you and mother."
"Oh, no—no—no, Mary! Don't say that."—The poor man's voice was broken.—"Don't say that! We can't let you go, dear."
"God has called me." The child's voice had a solemn tone, and her eyes turned reverently upward.
"I wish he would call me! Oh, I wish he would call me!" groaned Morgan, hiding his face in his hands. "What shall I do when you are gone? Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"
"Father!" Mary spoke calmly again. "You are not ready to go yet. God will let you live here longer, that you may get ready."
"How can I get ready without you to help me, Mary? My angel child!"
"Haven't I tried to help you, father, oh, so many times?" said Mary.
"Yes—yes—you've always tried."
"But it wasn't any use. You would go out
