He heard and heeded the anxious little voice, for the sobs lessened, and presently he raised himself up and as it were shook them off. But Matilda thought he looked very sad yet. She waited silently.
"You see, Matilda," he said, "I understand it all now. And they don't!"
"Who don't, David?"
"My people," he said sadly. "I see it all now. They did not know him—they did not know him! And so they lost him. You know what he said,—the kingdom is 'taken from them, and given to another nation, bringing forth the fruits thereof.' So they are scattered abroad on the face of the whole earth. And still they don't know him!"
"But you do, David?" said Matilda earnestly.
"Tilly, I wish my life was longer, to use it for him. I wish my hands were stronger, to do his service! But all I am is his, every bit of it, and all I have; from this day for ever."
The boy stood, with a kind of sad joyfulness, very quiet, with folded hands, speaking hardly as it seemed to Matilda, but perhaps to angels and the Lord himself.
"Won't you come and tell Mr. Richmond?"
"Certainly!" he said, starting from his attitude.
"When we heard nothing of you for ever so long, I grew troubled; I didn't know what had become of you; and then Mr. Richmond proposed that we should come here and look after you. You'll come to the parsonage to-night, David? you know we are all going away to-morrow morning."