After a while Tacy said, “It smelled like Easter in the church. Bee looked awful pretty. She had candles all around her.”
“Did she?” asked Betsy.
“But my mamma felt awful bad,” said Tacy.
Betsy said nothing.
“Of course,” said Tacy, “you know that Bee has only gone to Heaven.”
“Oh, of course,” said Betsy.
But Tacy’s lips were shaking. That made Betsy feel queer. So she said quickly, “Heaven’s awful nice.”
“Is it?” asked Tacy, looking toward her. Her eyes were big and full of trouble.
“Yes,” said Betsy. “It’s like that sunrise. In fact,” she added, “that’s it. We can’t see it during the day, but early in the morning they let us have a peek.”
“It’s pretty,” said Tacy, staring.
“Those gold sticks you see, those are candles,” said Betsy. “There’s a gold-colored light all the time. And there are harps to play on; they’re something like pianos. But you don’t need to take any lessons. You just know how to play. Bee’s having a good time up there,” said Betsy, looking up into the sky.
Tacy looked too. “Can she see us?”
“Of course she can see us. She’s looking down right now. And I’ll tell you what tickles Bee. She knows all about Heaven, and we don’t. She’s younger than we are, but she knows something we don’t know. Isn’t that funny? She’s just a baby, and she knows more than we do.”
“And more than Julia and Katie do,” said Tacy.
“Even more than our fathers and mothers do,” said Betsy. “It’s funny when you come to think of it.”
“She’s a long way from home though,” said Tacy.
“But she gets all the news,” said Betsy. “Do you know how she gets it? Why, from the birds. They fly up there and tell her how you are and what you’re all doing down at your house.”
“Do they?” asked Tacy.
And just at that moment, the little up and down song stopped, and there flew past them, going right up the hill, a robin red breast. He was the first robin they had seen that spring, and he was as red as a red Easter egg. He flew up the hill fast, as though he knew where he was going.