They could speak
when every other feature in the face was quiet.
"I don't like them--I dread them," said Peter Harris on one occasion.
"Aye, but don't I love 'em just!" remarked little Giles.
Giles and Sue were special friends of John Atkins. They had, in fact,
been left in his care by their mother three years before this story
begins. This was the way they had first learned to know Father John.
The man had a sort of instinct for finding out when people were in
trouble and when they specially needed him. There was a poor woman lying
on her dying bed, and a boy and a girl were kneeling close to her.
"Keep a good heart up, Giles," she said to the boy. "I know I'm goin' to
leave yer, and you're as lame as lame can be, but then there's Sue. Sue
has a deal o' gumption for such a young un. Sue won't let yer want,
Giles, lad; you need never go to the workhouse while Sue's alive."
"No, that he needn't, mother," answered Sue.
"Can't yer get back on to yer sofa, Giles?" she added, turning to the
boy. "You'll break your back kneeling by mother all this time."
"No, I won't; I'd rather stay," answered the boy. His eyes were full of
light; he kept on stroking his mother's hand.
"Go on, mother," he said. "Tell us more. You're goin' to 'eaven, and
you'll see father." A sob strangled his voice for a minute.
"Yes, I'll see my good 'usband--that is, I hope so; I can but trust--I
allus have trusted, though often, ef I may say the truth, I couldn't
tell what I were a-trusting to.
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