It was a very entreating little face that was turned towards her as he spoke. She did not answer him at once, but kissed him, and stroked his hair with loving hands.
“Will He ever come again?” he repeated, eagerly.
“My child, He is near us now. He does not forget little children, and the sick and the blind and the sorrowful. And He hears us, just as He heard the blind Bartimeus, and He cares for us and helps us all the same, though He has gone to heaven.”
“And will He make me well again?”
“I don’t know. If it is best He will. And if He does not make you well, He will make you good and patient, and willing to be sick. And you will be happy—more happy than when you were quite strong and well. Don’t you remember how He took the little children up in His arms and blessed them?”
“Yes; and He said, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto Me.’” But the little boy looked very sad as he said it.
Mr Sherwood took another turn in the garden and approached them from the other side. Christie was wrapping Claude in a plaid, and preparing to wheel him round the garden—as quiet and uninteresting a person, to all appearance, as one could fancy a child’s nurse to be.
“Carry me, Cousin Charles,” entreated little Claude. “It is so much nicer than to be drawn in the carriage. Do take me for a little while.”
“We’ll play horses,” said Clement, making his appearance at the moment, “and I’ll drive. Now, up and away!”
Christie sat down to her work again, while they carried on a merry game up and down the cedar walk, with much shouting and laughter from all.