As the little boys ran away to do her bidding, Mrs. Mansfield sank on to the nearest chair and burst into tears.
"Oh, Jerry, this is a dreadful thing!" she sobbed. "I have no doubt your sister is in a most serious state. 'Badly burnt,' you see, your aunt says, and very likely would not tell me the worst. I dare say the poor dear has received injuries that may last for life."
"Oh, no, mother; I don't think she is so bad as that," replied Jerry, striving to comfort her, though tears were shining in his eyes as he spoke. "Aunt says she is in a way to recover soon. She would not say so, if there was any fear of her being always ill—like me."
"I don't know that," returned his mother, shaking her head despondingly. "She would not tell me all the truth at once, for fear of alarming me too much. I misdoubt there's more behind her words than you think."
Jerry's heart had already been lifted up in silent prayer to the Saviour on Ellen's behalf. He now ventured to say timidly,—
"Mother, don't you cry so. Jesus will take care of Ellen. I have asked Him to make her well; won't you ask Him too?"
"Oh, Jerry, I can't," she sighed; "I don't feel like praying now."
"If you were to pray, you would feel better able to bear it, mother," said the little invalid, wise beyond his years.
"I wish I had your faith, my boy," said his mother, as she knelt down beside him, and fondly kissed his cheek. "You pray, Jerry; I can't."
There was a moment's hesitation, and then the boy, folding his thin hands, simply but solemnly uttered the following prayer: