"They used to be afraid of me—everybody," he said dreamily, as he took her on his knee again. "Who told you it was wrong to get angry?" he asked in a minute or two.
"It says so in the Bible," answered Milly. "Jesus never got angry; and I want to be like Jesus."
"I wish I had tried to conquer my temper when I was as young as you," he said. "If I had thought of what my mother had taught me—for she made me learn, 'Blessed are the meek,'—if I had thought of this, and asked God to make me meek and gentle, instead of being proud and passionate, I should have been a happy man now instead of a miserable one.
"Everybody thinks I am rich, but, Milly, I had better be as poor as the boy who brought you here—Bob, the fisher-boy; I know he is gentle, kind and obedient. I know he enjoys many things; while I—I never enjoy anything. It's nothing but misery—misery—misery with me!" And he uttered the last words in a sort of wail, so that Milly felt distressed and puzzled too.
But remembering when anything happened to the widow, she always liked to hear her read some verses against which she had placed a mark in her Testament, she ran from the room to get it. Bob had only brought it to her the day before, and she had spelled over the words she was now about to read as soon as it came, for they brought to her mind the kind friend who had taught her all she knew. A well-worn, well-thumbed book it was, for it had been almost her only spelling book, and the leaf on which were the marked verses was worn thin by the travelling of the little finger over them.
"I'm going to read something to you," said Milly, as she came back into the room again with the book in her hand.
She perched herself on his knee and turned to the place. It opened almost of itself at the right chapter, and Milly knew each word of her favorite verse; but she placed her finger under each as she read:
"'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.'"
Eagerly did Dr. Mansfield's eyes follow the little finger, while his ears drank in the loving, soothing words. "I'm weary, weary," he sighed. "O that I could find this rest!"
"Jesus will give it to you if you ask Him," said Milly, looking up from her book. "I know a place where it tells about that," she said.