"Yes, that is my intention. I have hopes that he will make a good, honest man yet."
"And suppose he disappoints you? You will lose patience with him as I have done, for I tell you he is enough to tire the patience of anyone."
Mr. Dawson was silent. He glanced from the eager face of his little niece to the wrinkled visage of the old man, and hesitated.
"Well?" said Mr. Harding impatiently.
"Who am I that I should lose patience with a fellow creature?" was the reply in low, moved tones. "What hope would there be for any of us if God lost patience with us? What if our fellow-creatures do disappoint us? I wonder how often we disappoint the Almighty God? If John Monday disappoints me, I'll try to bear with him, and pray God to show me how to influence him for good. I should like, sir, to be able to tell the boy that you forgive him, and bear him no ill-will."
"I bear him no ill-will," Mr. Harding responded; "indeed, I hope he may repay you for your kindness to him by endeavouring to do his duty, and studying your interests—he never studied mine. As to forgiving him—well, yes, you may tell him I forgive him, if you like."
Mousey looked at the old man with a brilliant smile of pleasure illuminating her face, and running round to his side, put her arms round his neck as she said—
"Cousin Robert, why do you pretend to be so cross when you're nothing of the kind? You know you want poor John to get on and please Uncle Dick."
"Did you ever hear such a saucy child?" Mr. Harding inquired, appealing to Mr. Dawson, who was astonished to see that the old man was pleased at Mousey's coaxing tone. "She never minds what she says to me. And she evidently thinks nothing of the loss John Monday has caused me."
"Do you mean the money the burglar stole?" Mousey asked. "Was it much? I thought it was only a little."