"Mother has prayed to Our Good Father, and I have prayed to Him all the time for help," said Jenny, whose accents were hardly above a whisper. "He has sent you to us, and you have saved us. Will you tell me your name?"
"Fanny Grant."
"Fanny, I am going to heaven soon, and I will bear your name in my heart when I go. I will bless you for your good deed while I have breath, and I will bless you when I get to heaven. You are a good girl, and I know that God will bless you too."
Poor Fanny! How mean she felt! As she stood in the presence of that pure-minded child, already an angel in simple trust and confiding hope, she realized her own wickedness. The burden of her sins seemed to be settling down upon her with a weight that would crush her.
"I love you, Fanny," continued the invalid, "and I will pray for you to the last moment of my life. Won't you speak to me?"
"I was very glad to do what I did," stammered Fanny, almost suffocated by the weight which pressed down upon her.
"I know you are; for it is more blessed to give than to receive."
"I am very sorry you are so sick. Can I do anything to help you?"
"You have done all that could be done, Fanny. I like to speak your name. It sounds like music to me. After what you have done, Fanny will always mean goodness to me. You cannot do anything more; you have already done enough."
"Don't you want anything?"