"Pain is very hard to bear, Master Jack, but you face it bravely, sir, I hear."
"Oh, no! I'm afraid not, but I try, and—"
"I sometimes think," John interrupted, "that, knowing our weakness, maybe the Lord won't judge us so much by what we've done, as by what we've tried to do. If we do our best, that's what God wants; He won't blame us for what we've left undone, if we try our hardest. My mother used to say the greatest praise Christ ever gave was to that poor woman who anointed His feet with ointment. You remember His disciples grumbled; I expect they felt impatient with her, and wanted her gone; but Jesus said, 'She hath done what she could.'"
"Highest praise!" said a quiet voice, and turning hastily the old man saw Mrs. Barton. She bent over her little son, and rearranged his pillows, whilst John went back to his work.
"Is it nearly twelve o'clock, mother?" Jack enquired.
"It is past twelve, my darling. Are you thinking it is time for Theodore to be here? He is rather late to-day. Perhaps he could not say his lessons, and Miss Penelope is keeping him on that account."
"Oh, no, I don't think it's that. He did his work as usual last night. Oh, mother, have you seen Theo imitate Miss Penelope?"
"Imitate Miss Penelope? No, indeed!"
"Oh, it's so funny. He screws up his mouth small, and makes his eyes very round, and talks in a cross, snappy sort of voice!"
"I don't think it's kind to do that, Jack."