“He has given up his right over you,” Jack said stoutly.
“He was glad to get somebody else to nurse me, and save him the trouble. But when he wants me, he won’t count that anything.”
“What should he want you for?” asked Cress. “I don’t see!” And we all laughed, for certainly Cress was paying Maimie a poor compliment.
“I don’t know why anybody should want me,” Maimie said merrily. “But sometimes I think he will soon.”
“You know why some do,” Jack said softly. “You know why we all do, Maimie,—because we love you.”
“And perhaps father loves me too,” she answered lightly. “I used to think he did.”
“Queer sort of love,—to care so much about himself as never to wish to come near you all the time you were ill!”
“Some people’s love is very poor and selfish,” I said; “yet I suppose it is love—of a kind.”
“Feeble kind,” remarked Jack.
“Only 'some’ will 'dare to die’—even 'for a good man,’” I said, thinking of the Bible words. And I thought, too, silently of that other yet more wonderful love—the great love of the Son of God, which could make Him “dare to die,” not for good but for evil men, that they might be saved. Glancing at Maimie, I wondered if the same recollection had come to here—such a sweet look passed over her face.