"Wouldn't he like him to have it?" questioned Jem.
"He'd like drink better," answered Cherry, in a matter-of-fact tone. "Since poor father's taken to that so much, he don't have the heart he used to have, He wouldn't have took this attic for us, so comfortable, only the landlady let us have it cheap 'cause the other folks wouldn't have Dickie no longer."
"Why, dear?" asked Meg pitifully.
"'Cause he cried and coughed so. The attic was empty, and I told father I didn't mind the holes in the roof so long as they wouldn't worry Dickie. So he was in a good humour, and let us come, and we've been here a month."
Cherry spoke in a congratulating tone, but soon grew sober again when she looked towards the little brown head that moved so restlessly.
"Jem," whispered Meg, "might I make him some bread and milk, and bring it round to him at once?"
Jem willingly agreed, and Meg hurried away. While she was gone, he sat down and drew from his pocket a little Testament, and with Cherry's eyes curiously watching him, he turned over the leaves till he came to the tenth chapter of John. Then in a clear, low tone, that soothed while it wooed them to listen, he read about the Good Shepherd giving His life for the sheep.
Cherry sat down on the bottom of the mattress and listened, evidently not as if it were a new tale, but yet as a thirsty man will stretch out his hand for water which he has not tasted for so long.
"Dickie," she whispered, as Jem paused, "don't yer like to hear about Jesus? That's the Good Shepherd what I've told you about, as loves the little lambs."
Dickie opened his eyes just enough to give her the shadow of a smile of assent; but he was too weak to care to speak.