The child gave a rapturous cry. Dil stood helpless from astonishment.
“There ain’t no words good enough,” Dil said brokenly. “Leastways, I don’t know any. O Bess, he’s made you look jes’ ’s if you was well. O mister, will she look that way in heaven?” For Dil had a vague misgiving she could never look that way on earth.
“She will be more beautiful, because she will never be ill again.”
“Dil’s right—there ain’t no words to praise it,” Bess said simply. “If we was rich we’d give you hundreds and hundreds of dollars, wouldn’t we, Dil?”
Dil nodded. Her eyes were full of tears. Something she had never known before struggled within her, and almost rent her soul.
“And here is your book. You can read, of course?”
“I can read some. Oh, how good you are to remember.” She was deeply conscience stricken.
The tone moved him immeasurably. His eyelids quivered. There were thousands of poor children in the world, some much worse off than these. He could not minister to all of them, but he did wish he could put these two in a different home.
“I must go away again with my cousin, and I am sorry. I meant to”—what could he do, he wondered—“to see more of you this winter; but a friend of mine will visit you, and bring you a little gift now and then. You must have spent all your money long ago,” flushing at the thought of the paltry sum.
“We stretched it a good deal,” said Dil quaintly. “You see, I bought Bess some clo’es, there didn’t seem much comin’ in for her. An’ the fruit was so lovely. She’s been so meachin’.”