“You will come again to my class next Sunday?” said the Sunday teacher, smiling at her.
“I’m dreadful afeared as I can’t,” answered Faith. “I’d like to beyont any words, but I’m feared as I can’t come no more; I only come to-day ’cause I do want to know how to bring Roy to Jesus.”
“Who is Roy?” asked the teacher.
“Please, lady dear, he’s my little, little brother; he’s quite a baby boy; I do want to bring him to Jesus.”
“The Bible tells us how to bring little children to the dear Saviour Jesus,” answered the teacher in her sweet, low voice. “But I think you need to have it explained to you, Faith. If you can manage to come even once again to Sunday-school, and if you will be here just five minutes before the school opens, why I will come too, and tell you all about it. I am sorry I must run away now.”
She nodded and smiled at Faith, and Faith went away with a great and wonderful joy in her heart. But oh! how changed was everything now! God, who was spoken of as very loving, very forgiving, very kind at Sunday-school, was dreadfully angry with her. Her father had said he never would forgive her, and Faith felt that she deserved some punishment, for in disobeying her father she certainly had done wrong.
Oh! what a lonely, lonely little girl she was; were it not for Roy, how without love and interest would her life be! but yes, she still had her darling, precious baby boy. At the remembrance of him she raised her face, and then got up slowly from her crouching position. It was full time to give him his supper and put him to bed. She reproached herself afresh for having forgotten him so long. Was it possible that he was still asleep on the sofa in the sitting-room! no, this could scarcely be the case, for her father had said that he had done the incalculable mischief of tearing up his prize essay. Poor, poor little Roy, how innocently he had committed this great crime! how often had she kept him quiet by giving him an old newspaper to tear! Yes, she, and she alone, was the only one to blame for the mischief done that night; but whoever was the guilty party, Roy must have his supper and go to bed; it was far too late already for a little child only two years old to be up. Faith must brave her father’s anger and fetch Roy from the sitting-room. She trembled a little as she approached the door, and thought of her stern father’s voice and manner; but though far too timid to raise even a finger to help herself, Faith was one of those who would gladly take her very life in her hand to save or aid one whom she loved. She opened the door softly and looked in. Her father was seated by the table, the gas flaring high over his head; he was trying laboriously to put some of his torn essay together; he heard the movement at the door, but without looking up called out harshly—“Go away; I can’t be disturbed.”
“Please, father, ’tis only me fur Roy. I want Roy to give him his supper.”
“Roy ain’t here. Go away, I say.” Faith’s heart gave a great bound. No, Roy was certainly not in the room. Could she have overlooked him in the bedroom? There was no light, except from the gas outside, in the room. Had her father been very harsh and angry with little Roy, and had he crept in here and fallen asleep? She went back, struck a light with a trembling hand, and looked around her.
No, he was not in the big bed. He was not in his own little cot. He was nowhere, either under the bed or on the floor.