"I'll no' trust Him," replied Mary; "if you and mither dees, I'll dee tae, and gang wi' ye." And she fairly broke down, and clung to him as if he was about to leave her.
The Sergeant took Mary on his knee. "Be cheerie, Mary--be cheerie!" he said. "If ye kent God, ye wad aye be cheerie, my lassie. Mrs. Craigie has frichted ye."
"Ay, awfu'!" said Mary.
The Sergeant felt as if Mary had not quite learned her lesson, and he continued:--"D'ye mind what I telt ye ae nicht aboot mithers bringing their bairns to Christ?--and hoo some folk that didna ken Him were for keeping them awa'?--and hoo Jesus was angry at them?--and hoo the bairns gaed till Him----"
"And did they no' squeel wi' fricht?" asked Mary.
"Did ye squeel, Mary," asked the Sergeant, with a smile, "when I took ye into my arms?"
"No. What for should I?" replied Mary.
"Aweel, my lassie," argued Adam, "why do ye think that bairns like yersel' should be frichted to trust that same Jesus wha was Himsel' a bairn and kens a bairn's heart? He wad be unco sorry, Mary, if ye didna trust Him, when He dee'd, as ye ken, on the cross to save you and me and ilka body, and aye thinks aboot us and prays for us."
Mary sighed, and crept closer to the Sergeant.
Adam, taking her little hand in his, said, "Mind what I tell ye, my bairn. Learn ye to speak aye to God and tell Him yer heart in yer ain prayer, and never gang ony road He wadna like; and stick till Him as ye wad to me if we were gaun ower the muir thegither at nicht, or through a burn in a spate; and never, Mary, in the hour o' distress think that He doesna care for you or has forgotten you. For nae doot whan ye grow up to be big ye'll hae mony a distress, like ither folk, ye dinna ken aboot yet."