Edward repeated, in a whisper: "Do you think anyone could ever convert Martha?"
"I believe I am on the high road to do so," whispered the other, mysteriously.
"Come, you won't get me to believe that," and he smiled with squinting eyes.
"Just you wait and hear. You know she fell on the ice this winter and was badly hurt?"
"Yes, I know that."
"Well, she is still laid up, and now everyone is tired of helping her, for she is so cross and so wicked. At first she was very disagreeable to me; I could hardly bear it; but I took no notice, and now it is nothing but, 'my little angel,' and 'my lamb,' and 'my pigeon,' and 'dear child;' for I have taken care of her, and got clothes and food for her, and bedclothes too, and have done much for her that was not at all pleasant; that I have. And yet it was she who wanted to beat me the other evening. I was going to help her up, and somehow she managed to hurt her bad foot. She shrieked with pain and lifted her stick, but then she thought better of it, and began to curse and abuse me dreadfully. Now we are good friends again, and the other day I ventured to read the Bible to her."
"What! to Martha?"
"Yes, the Sermon on the Mount, and she cried, lad."
"She cried? Then did she understand it?"
"No, for she cried so that she could not have heard much of it. But I don't think she cried on account of what was in the Bible, for she began as soon as ever I took it out."