The little reader's voice changed, almost broke, but she struggled through, and then was quietly crying behind her hand.
"Read it again," said the old gentleman after a pause.
There is no 'cannot' in the vocabulary of affection. Fleda waited a minute or two to rally her forces, and then went through it again, more steadily than the first time.
"Yes--" said Mr. Ringgan calmly, folding his hands,--"that will do! That trust won't fail, for it is founded upon a rock. 'He is a rock; and he knoweth them that put their trust in him!' I have been a fool to doubt ever that he would make all things work well--The Lord will provide!"
"Grandpa," said Fleda, but in an unsteady voice, and shading her face with her hand still,--"I can remember reading this hymn to my mother once when I was so little that 'suggestions' was a hard word to me."
"Ay, ay,--I dare say," said the old gentleman,--"your mother knew that Rock and rested her hope upon it,--where mine stands now. If ever there was a creature that might have trusted to her own doings, I believe she was one, for I never saw her do anything wrong,--as I know. But she knew Christ was all. Will you follow him as she did, dear?"
Fleda tried in vain to give an answer.
"Do you know what her last prayer for you was, Fleda?"
"No, grandpa."
"It was that you might be kept 'unspotted from the world.' I heard her make that prayer myself." And stretching out his hand the old gentleman laid it tenderly upon Fleda's bowed head, saying with strong earnestness and affection, even his voice somewhat shaken, "God grant that prayer!--whatever else he do with her, keep my child from the evil!--and bring her to join her father and mother in heaven!--and me!"