What do you think heaven will be like?

I found the heat to be more bearable if I kept busy—and could see, unseen, all the little tableaux into which the two children grouped themselves—a new one every instant—in the shadow now—now in a quiver of golden glow—the wind tossing their hair about, and their chatter chiming down the hall like bells. O, what a funny little sunset there's going to be behind the maple-tree said the blond-haired Bland, in a pause. Funny enough, observed Faith, with her superior smile, but it's going to be a great deal funnier up in heaven, I tell you, Molly Bland. Funny in heaven? Why, Faith! Molly drew herself up with a religious air, and looked the image of her father. Yes, to be sure. I'm going to have some little pink blocks made out of it when I go—pink and yellow and green and purple and—O, so many blocks! I'm going to have a little red cloud to sail round in, like that one up over the house, too, I shouldn't wonder. Molly opened her eyes. O, I don't believe it. You don't know much! said Miss Faith, superbly. I shouldn't s'pose you would believe it. P'r'aps I'll have some strawberries too, and some gingersnaps—I'm not going to have any old bread and butter up there—O, and some little gold apples, and a lot of playthings—nicer play things—why, nicer than they have in the shops in Boston, Molly Bland! God's keeping 'em up there a purpose.