"What is there I can do for you?" said he, with a gentleness that seemed almost strange from such lips.
"If you would," said Ellen, faintly, "if you could be so kind as to read to me a hymn I should be so glad. I've had nobody to read to me."
Her hand put the little book towards him as she said so.
Mr. Van Brunt would vastly rather any one had asked him to plough an acre. He was to the full as much confounded as poor Ellen had once been at a request of his. He hesitated, and looked towards Ellen, wishing for an excuse. But the pale little face that lay there against the pillow the drooping eyelids the meek, helpless look of the little child, put all excuses out of his head; and though he would have chosen to do almost anything else, he took the book, and asked her "Where?" She said, "Anywhere;" and he took the first he saw.
"Poor, weak, and worthless though I am,
I have a rich, almighty Friend;
Jesus the Saviour is his name,
He freely loves, and without end."
"Oh," said Ellen, with a sigh of pleasure, and folding her hands on her breast, "how lovely that is!"
He stopped and looked at her a moment, and then went on with increased gravity
"He ransom'd me from hell with blood,
And by his pow'r my foes controll'd;
He found me wand'ring far from God,
And brought me to his chosen fold."
"Fold?" said Ellen, opening her eyes; "what is that?"
"It's where sheep are penned, ain't it?" said Mr. Van Brunt, after a pause.