Martin said this with such a pleading, earnest look, smiling coaxingly on Nelly as he spoke, that, for the moment, the heart of the little girl was softened.
“Well, Martin,” she said, “you are always preachin’ ar’n’t you? But it’s nice preachin’ and I don’t hate it a bit. Some day, when I get real, awful good, you’ll leave off, won’t you? I’ll think about Melindy, and may-be I can screw my courage up to not mind bein’ cracked at by her.”
“Pray for them that uses yer spitefully,” said Comfort with solemnity.
Nelly seemed struck by this.
“What, pray for Melindy?” she asked meditatingly.
“Chil’en,” said the old woman, “don’t never forget that ar mighty sayin’. Yer may be kind and such like to yer enemys, but if yer don’t take time to pray for his poor ole soul’s salvation, you might as well not do nuthin’. That’s the truff, the Gospil truff.”
“Well,” said Nell with a deep sigh, “I’ll pray for Melindy then, and for that bad, little Johnny Williams, too, to-night when I go to bed; but I shall have, oh, Comfort, such hard work to mean it, here!” and her hands were pressed for an instant over her breast.
The next morning, just as Nelly was starting for school, Martin drew her, mysteriously, aside.
“Which hand will you have, Nell?” he asked, holding both behind him.
“This one,” she said, eagerly, touching the right hand, in which she had caught a side glimpse of something glittering like burnished gold.