"That's because I have got soothing hands," said Marjorie. "Some people have, and I suppose I'm one. The children at home always go to sleep when I hold their hands. Don't you think you could shut your eyes and try to go to sleep now, Susy?"
"Oh, miss, there's a weight on my mind. You can't sleep when you're ill and like to die, and there's a weight pressing down on you."
"I don't believe you'll die, Susy; and if you've a weight on your mind, you can tell God about it, you know."
"No, miss, God's awful angry with me."
"He's never angry with us, if we are sorry about things," answered Marjorie. "He's our Father, and fathers always forgive their children when they are sorry. If you are sorry, Susy, you can tell God, your Father, and he'll be sure to forgive you at once."
"I'm sorry enough, miss, but I think Miss Ermie is as bad as me. I'd never have done it, never, but for Miss Ermie. I think it's mean of her to keep away from me when I'm ill."
"Ermengarde is not at home, Susy; but if you want her very badly, if you really want her for anything important, I will write to her, and she shall come home—I know she will."
"Thank you, Miss Marjorie; I didn't think nothing at all about what I did when I was well, but now it seems to stay with me day and night, and I'm sorry I was so spiteful and mean to Miss Nelson. But it wasn't my fault, miss—no, that it wasn't—that the picture was broke. What is it, Miss Marjorie? How you start."
"Nothing," said Marjorie; "only perhaps, Susy, you'd rather tell Ermie the rest; and she shall come back; I promise you that that she shall come back."
"Thank you, Miss Marjorie; you are real good, and you comfort me wonderfully when you hold my hands."