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." "I want to--I want to!" sobbed Kitty; "I would if I knew how." Tip's heart gave a bound of joy--a surprised bound, too; he had not expected it so soon.
"It's easy, Kitty, it is, truly, if you only just ask God to do it.

You see He can hear every word you say; He hears you now, but He wants you to ask Him about it.