"My missus told me there were some souls 'sick unto death.' Maybe yours is—nearly dead, but not quite."
"Wery likely," was the amused retort.
"Wouldn't you like it made alive agen?"
Such a flash of light lit up Peggy's plain little face as she asked this question that an answering gleam played across the old pedlar's.
"How's it to be done?" he asked.
Peggy pointed to the picture.
"Ask Him to come into it. If He lives in it, He'll make it alive agen; missus said so."
"Oh, ay," said the old man; but a long-drawn sigh escaped him. "Well, good-day, missy, as ye won't buy nothin'."
But Peggy seized hold of him by the lappet of his coat and detained him.
"But look 'ere, you just do it! I'm a-tellin' you of a cure for your soul. Don't you go away without a-listenin'. I'm a-tryin' to be a missionary at 'ome, I am, and you've a splendid one to talk to, almost as good as a 'eathen. You listen! I ain't goin' to let yer go. Do you mind the girl in the Bible who sent her master, the leper capting, to be cured? I'm a-goin' to send you, and you'll 'ave to go. 'Course you will. Who'd stay with a sick, dead soul, if they could get it made alive agen? You go, do yer hear me?"