The voice seemed to penetrate the child’s dimmed understanding. Something like the shadow of the old smile crept over the pinched face; the little transparent hands made a groping movement as though trying to stretch themselves out.
“Miss Madge! Miss Madge!” she gasped feebly. “Miss Madge has come! Oh, Mrs. Gregg, are you there? You see you were right. You said Jesus always heard, and that He would answer by-and-by!”
She spoke the words in feeble gasps, trying to raise herself up; but the excitement and exertion were too much, and she fell back in a state of unconsciousness.
“Ah, poor lamb! she’s going! But she’s got her wish. She is happy now!” breathed Mrs. Gregg, drawing Madge away from the bedside. The girl turned to her brother, and caught his arm almost fiercely.
“Bertram, we must save her! we must save her!” she cried. “Don’t tell me she is dying! I won’t—I can’t believe it!”
“Not actually dying, I think,” he answered gravely, “but in a very critical condition. If she remains here she will certainly die. We must bestir ourselves if we are to save her.”
“Oh, tell me what to do! What can be done? Bertram, you will help me! You will not let me have this burden to carry about with me!”
She was growing painfully excited. He led her away, promising Mrs. Gregg that they would make speedy arrangements for the removal of the little patient to some better place, and asking the good woman to have her ready for the bearers when they should come.
“You must not give way, Madge,” he said, when they were in the street. “It has been rather a sad experience for you; but we will still hope for a happy ending. I trust and hope we may save this little life, and make it a happier one in the future. But think of the thousands of children who are growing up in dens like that! It almost crushes the life out of one to think of it!”
“I won’t think of it!” cried Madge, clenching her teeth to choke back the wave of emotion which threatened to overcome her. “I will think of the individual little ones whom I shall be able to help and cheer and make happy for a little while in their small lives. I must be careful, I see. I must not unfit them for the battle of life. I must not promise or attempt more than I can perform, or make pets and playthings of the little ones. All their surroundings must be plain and homely. But they shall have their fill of fresh air and sunshine and liberty. Oh, Bertram, my heart bleeds for them! You will not think that I ought to give up my scheme because I have been so foolish once. I have had such a lesson. And there I shall have wiser heads to counsel me.”