"Oh!" said Jennie slowly, and with a sage nod, "wouldn't it be good, Susy, if He would put it into the hearts of rich folks? they could do so much."
"Sometimes He does. Look at the newsboys' dinner! And there's a good many things."
Poor Jennie sighed a little. She could not make it out straight in her tired brain.
The crowd went away presently, declaring that it was the jolliest sort of a Christmas. They thanked Susy and Granny over and over again.
The next day was Sabbath. Susy begged Mr. Linley to come and see the little sick girl at her house. And one way and another, the story of the Christmas feast came out.
For Jennie, the little beggar girl, was very sick. Cold and hunger had done their worst. It had been so hard and dreary since her mother died, with no one to care for her, and to have to dodge around continually, kicked and cuffed and almost starved. And if the Lord up above did care—
"She's a pretty sick little girl," said Susy, "but Granny and I will do our best to pull her through."
Mr. Linley felt the pulse and shook his head. The fever was high and there was no strength to battle with it.
And then he looked into Susy's great, wistful eyes, and was touched to the heart. The child had learned the sweetest and noblest lesson of all. She had gone out into the highway and hedges, she had gathered in the lame and the halt and the blind.
"You see I've grown fond of her, a'ready," explained Susy. "I'd do anything for her."