"Yes," said Dickie; "if it's 'mo'ver-Meg,' it must be 'fa'ver-Jem.'"
Jem smiled and then sighed. He had hoped for something different from this; but what if His Father's will had arranged it so?
"You do not mind, Jem?" came in Meg's soft voice. "His feeling so has made me very happy."
"So it shall me, sweetheart," he answered, taking the child henceforward right into his big heart.
Then he turned to Cherry.
"Make haste and put on your hat, Cherry," he said to her; "for I want to get your poor father to give you to us to take care of. D'ye think he will?"
Cherry looked doubtful. It was on her lips to say, "Father would do anything for drink," but she felt it would be cruel to even think such a thing now, and she hastily dismissed the thought. And as it went another came—"I'll ask Jesus to help." So when she put on her shabby little hat, and turned down-stairs with Jem, the uppermost thought in her heart came to be, "Oh, if only poor father could love Jesus; I shouldn't mind about being happy myself."
Perhaps Jem's mind was running on the same subject, for he walked along very silently by her side. Once he turned to her to take her little thin hand, and to ask her if he were walking too fast, but after that he scarcely spoke till they stood inside the hospital.
He felt Cherry's hand trembling so much then, that he stooped to her, and spoke in a whisper.
"There's naught to be afraid of, dear," he said; "and if you're thinkin' of your poor father, the best plan as I know on is to tell God about that."