“I will go and see your father,” said the clergyman.
The little rogues, who were accustomed to idle about the ruin to gain pence from visitors by a tale of pretended woe, looked at each other in some perplexity at the offer, for though they liked money well enough, they were by no means prepared for a visit. At last Jack, the eldest, said with impudent assurance, “Father’s not there, he’s taken to the hospital, there’s only mother at home.”
“Mother! you said just now that your mother was dead.”
“I meant—” stammered the boy, quite taken by surprise; but the clergyman would not suffer him to proceed.
“Do not add another untruth, poor child, to those which you have just uttered. Do you not know that there is One above the heavens who hears the words of your lips, reads the thoughts of your hearts—One who will judge, and can punish?”
Ashamed and abashed, the three children made a hasty retreat. As soon as they were beyond sight and hearing of the strangers, Jack turned round and made a mocking face in their direction, and Madge exclaimed in an insolent tone, “We weren’t going to stop for his sermon.”
“There’s Mark there that would take it in every word, and thank him for it at the end,” said Jack.
“Oh, Mark’s so odd!” cried Ben; “he’s never like anybody else. No one would guess him for our brother!”
These words were more true than Ben’s usually were, for the bright-haired young noble himself scarcely offered a greater contrast to the ragged, dirty children, than they with their round rustic faces, marked by little expression but stupidity on that of Ben, sullen obstinacy on Madge’s, and forward impudence on Jack’s, did to the expansive brow and deep thoughtful eye of the boy whom they had spoken of as Mark.