"No, Wikkey—I was only thinking;" then, plunging on desperately, he continued: "I was thinking how I could best make you understand what I said last night about Someone Who sees everything you do—Someone Who is very good."
"Cut on, I'm minding. Is it Someone as you love?"
Lawrence reddened. What was his feeling towards the Christ? Reverence certainly, and some loyalty, but could he call it love, in the presence of the passionate devotion to himself which showed in every look of those wistful eyes?
"Yes, I love him," he said slowly, "but not as much as I should." Then as a sudden thought struck him. "Look here, Wikkey, you said you would like to have me for a king; well, He that I am telling you of is my King, and He must be yours, too, and we will both try to love and obey Him."
"Where is He?" asked Wikkey.
"You can't see him now, because He lives up in Heaven. He is the Son of God, and He might always have stayed in Heaven, quite happy, only, instead of that, he came down upon earth, and became a man like one of us, so that He might know what it is. And though He was really a King, He chose to live like a poor man, and was often cold and hungry as you used to be; and He went about helping people, and curing those who were ill, because, you know, Wikkey, He was God, and could do anything. There are beautiful stories about Him that I can tell you."
"How do you know all about the King, Lawrence?"
"It is written in a book called the Bible. Have you ever seen a Bible?"
"That was the big book as blind Tim used to sit and feel over with his fingers by the area rails. I asked him what it was, and he said as it was the Bible. But bless you; he weren't blind no more nor you are: he lodged at Skimmidge's for a bit, and I saw him a reading of the paper in his room; he kicked me when he saw as I'd twigged him;" and Wikkey's laugh broke out at the recollection. Poor child, his whole knowledge of sacred things seemed to be derived from—
"Holiest things profaned and cursed."