Poor Mrs. Reardon bent down her head over her sewing, and wept to think that the age of miracles was past.
"Father," said Bessie, after a pause, "have you got the palsy like that poor man?"
"No, Bess; not quite so bad as that."
"But you are sick and ill. Could not God cure you as He did him?"
"I suppose He could," replied Matthew, thoughtfully. "But I don't think that I should care so much about being cured if I could only hear Him saying those sweet words, 'Son, thy sins be forgiven thee.'"
"Didn't Polly read it well, father?" asked Bessie.
"Yes, very well. But I want to hear more about Christian, and what he did when he got quit of his burden."
"I don't know what comes next," said Bessie. "We lost a great deal by staying away so often. I don't recollect any more till he comes to a terrible place called the Valley of the Shadow of Death—"
The child was prevented from saying any more by Mrs. Reardon insisting upon their going to bed at once.
"They'd like a little drop of broth first," pleaded Matthew.