"I thought the thorns hurt his head."
"Not so much as our sins pierced his heart."
"I'm sorry if I have hurt him. What made our sins hurt him so?"
"His great love to us."
"Nobody's sins ever hurt me so."
"You do not love anybody well enough."
The spirit of peace was brooding, at last, over the worn face. Morris had left her with his heart at rest, for the pain on lip and brow began to pass away in the first hour of Miss Prudence's presence.
Prue was summoned after what to her seemed endless waiting, and, nestling in Aunt Prue's lap, with her head on her shoulder and her hand in hers, she sat still in a content that would not stir itself by one word.
"Little Prue, I want to tell you a story."
"Oh, good!" cried Prue, nestling closer to express her appreciation.