"It's because Jesus died instead of us, father," added Cherry, weeping. "Oh, father, why don't ye come to Him?"
The man did not answer her. Wearied out with pain and emotion, he lay exhausted; nor would the nurse allow any more talking.
"You can come again this evening," she said, looking into Cherry's woe-begone face. "He may live till then."
With this they were forced to be satisfied, and Cherry turned away with a sad heart.
Slowly they made their way home again, while Cherry's halting steps seemed to drag more wearily than they had done while hope beat in her bosom. Tear after tear coursed down her cheeks, and it was with difficulty that she could guide herself in the crowded thoroughfare.
At last Jem, seeing this, took her hand again, and sought for words of comfort.
"You mustn't doubt God, child," he said kindly; "we're all apt to think as He can't do nothin' without us. But 'tis oftentimes when we have done all as is in our power, and yet have failed, that He can work best. Me and Meg was readin' yesterday—why, it was only yesterday!" he exclaimed, stopping to interrupt himself,—"we was readin' afore I went to my work some such words as these: 'Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit, saith the Lord.' And, Cherry, it seems to me as it ain't when we can do most, but when we'll let Him do most, as He can work best."
Cherry listened and took courage, and though she did not say a word, she thanked Jem from the bottom of her little heart.
When they presented themselves at the hospital again that evening, and asked to be allowed to see Tom Seymour, the answer came like a knell to them both:
"He died at three o'clock."