The minister was siting in an easy chair before a comfortable fire with a hymn-book in his hand, which he closed as the three children appeared in the open doorway. Jessica had seen his pale and thoughtful face many a time from her hiding-place, but she had never met the keen, earnest, searching gaze of his eyes, which seemed to pierce through all her wretchedness and misery, and to read at once the whole history of her desolate life. But before her eyelids could droop, or she could drop a reverential courtesy, the minister’s face kindled with such a glow of pitying tenderness and compassion as fastened her eyes upon him, and gave her new heart and courage. His children ran to him, leaving Jessica upon the mat at the door, and with eager voices and gestures told him the difficulty they were in.
“Come here, little girl,” he said, and Jessica walked across the carpeted floor till she stood right before him, with folded hands, and eyes that looked frankly into his.
“What is your name, my child?” he asked.
“Jessica,” she answered.
“Jessica?” he repeated, with a smile; “that is a strange name.”
“Mother used to play ‘Jessica’ at the theatre, sir,” she said, “and I used to be a fairy in the pantomime, till I grew too tall and ugly. If I’m pretty when I grow up mother says I shall play too; but I’ve a long time to wait. Are you the minister, sir?”
“Yes,” he answered, smiling again.
“What is a minister?” she inquired.
“A servant!” he replied, looking away thoughtfully into the red embers of the fire.