"You are rewarded for your patience and your kindness, my lad," said Miss Lee with a smile to the youth, who was panting after his exertions.
"Ey, ma'am; 'twas a wilful lamb, it was; but I would not let it go," said the youth, as he slowly got up from the ground, and wiped his heated brow. "If I had let it drown, I'd have had to answer for it to my master."
Miss Lee turned, and went again on her homeward way, her mind full of the little incident of the rescue of the lamb, and the words of the shepherd lad seemed to ring in her ears as she walked. "Has not the Heavenly Shepherd given me some of His lambs to tend," thus reflected the Sunday-school teacher; "and shall I forsake one of them because it has wandered farther, fallen lower, and is in more danger than the rest of my little flock? Shall not I have to answer for it to my Master? More earnest, persevering effort may be needed; I may be, as it were, torn by the brambles; my poor Seth may require more constant prayers and pains; but may grace be given me to say of him what the shepherd boy said of his charge, 'I'll not let you go, little one; I'll not let you go!'"
This was the Sunday-school teacher's resolve; but she seemed likely never to be able to carry it out, for she had scarcely reached her home when she fainted.
[PART II.]
"No, there's no use, boys, in your coming here this morning; there's no one to hold the class; so you'd better be off till the bells ring for service."
So spake old Ridger, the clerk, on the morning of the Sunday following, as he stood outside the closed door of the room in which Miss Lee was wont to meet her young pupils.
Some of the boys looked surprised, but Sam Wright, the gardener's son, observed, "I was a'most sure as there would be no class to-day, because Miss Lee is so ill."
"Ill!" echoed several voices.
"Ay, she's been ailing this long time," replied Sam. "Father says that she's never so much as taken a turn in the garden for months, and she used to have such pleasure in the flowers."