"Tom Seymour," he said solemnly, "do you make my wife and me guardians of your two children, Cherry and Dickie?"
"Yes," said the man distinctly; "and God grant as you may keep the charge better'n I've done."
"God will help us," said Jem, taking the hand which lay outside the counterpane; "and, my friend, God will help you. If you turn to him now He will receive you."
The man drew away his hand with impatient pain.
"That's past for me," he said between his teeth.
"No, it isn't, father," exclaimed Cherry. "If Jesus 'as been so good to you as to take Dickie away from old Sairy, don't ye think as He can be kind enough as to take you from Satan?"
"I'm too bad, Cherry; it ain't no use talkin'. You've tried, my girl, a score o' times. And so did yer mother; it ain't a bit o' good. Leave me to die now. If Dickie's all right, I can't 'elp the rest."
Cherry's eyes looked despairingly at Jem, but he encouraged her to try again, himself only praying silently that some word, winged by the power of the Mighty Spirit, might enter that hard heart.
"Ain't you goin' to thank Jesus, then?" asked poor little Cherry. "He's been awful kind to Dickie, father."
The man was silent; but Cherry thought he heard her nevertheless.