Susan kissed the child, and replied, "The Lord is always pleased when we try to do His will, by being kind to His poor."
When the fifth petition in the prayer was explained, again Jessy looked full into the eyes of her nurse. "Can you forgive Tom out and out?" asked the child.
"I can—I do," replied Susan.
"I can't, and I don't," cried Jessy.
"Oh, dear Missie, we must pray for the spirit of forgiveness, for without it we dare not hope to be forgiven by God. The Lord has taught us mercy and love to those who have wronged us; not only by His words, but by His blessed example."
And then to her quiet, attentive hearer Susan told that touching story of prayer even for murderers, which, while it is a lofty theme for angels, falls sweetly on the ear of a child.
Susan did not speak long, for she feared to weary Jessy. The servant did not know what force her own gentleness and kindness gave to her words. Jessy felt that Susan, who thought and talked about holy things, was a very different person in her conduct and ways from what Betsy had been—she who never cared for religion. Even a child could draw the conclusion that what made Susan good must be good—that what made Susan happy would be likely to make herself happy; and a wish arose in Jessy's heart that she might grow more like Susan. The tiny night-light was already casting its radiance around.
After Jessy had laid her little head on her pillow, Susan put Master Tommy to bed. The little boy still seemed sulky, neither attempted to say his prayers, nor bade good-night to his nurse. He carried his money with him to his bed, and thrust it under his pillow.
"Master Tom," said Susan, gently, as she bent over the child, "I could not bear to go to sleep till I had asked forgiveness of God, and of any one whom I might have treated unkindly."
Tom made no reply, but pulled his coverlet over his head, and turned his face to the wall.