"Oh," thought Christine, "if I could only paint that expression!"
"You seem a great friend of Mr. Fleet," she said, studying and sketching him as if he had been an inanimate object.
The boy made no answer.
"Perhaps you do not know that I am a friend—friendly," she added, correcting herself, "to Mr. Fleet also."
"Mr. Fleet never likes to have his friends do wrong," said the boy, doubtingly.
Again she colored a little, for Ernst's pure and reproachful face made her feel that she had done a mean thing, but she laughed said: "You see I am not in his mission class, and have never had the instruction that you have. But, after all, why do you think Mr. Fleet better than other people?"
"By what he does."
"That is a fair test; what has he done?"
"He saved us all from starving, and worse than starving."
Then with feminine tact she drew from him his story, and it was told with deep feeling and the natural pathos of childhood, and his gratitude caused him to dwell with a simple eloquence on the part Dennis had taken, while his rich and loved German accent made it all the more interesting to Christine. She dropped her pencil, and, when he finished, her eyes, that were seldom moistened by the dew of sympathy, were wet.