"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--you would go to the
tavern. It seemed most as if you couldn't help it."

Morgan groaned in spirit.

"Maybe I can help you better, father, after I die. I love you so