"But, father," said Cherry, restraining her tears by a violent effort, "there's stronger than them as has Dickie in hand. Don't ye see that Jesus is stronger than them?" The man only groaned afresh. "And Jesus has heard me and Dickie askin' Him, and He's found us such a nice home. Father, 'ull you be willin' to give us to those as is so good to us?" "Who?" asked the man, for the first time opening his eyes. "To me," said Jem, coming close. "I've taken 'em from old Sairy, and they shan't ever go back, if you'll say as you will let me and Meg be their guardians." The poor dying eyes were eagerly scanning Jem's face; they returned to Cherry's as if satisfied. "Their mother was a good woman," he said. "So Cherry tells me. We'll do our best to teach them to be good too." The man turned his head away as if he had done with the subject, and indeed with all earthly things. Then, just as Cherry and Jem were looking at each other in dismay, he roused himself once more. "You may 'ave 'em," he said. Jem signed to the nurse to draw near. "Tom Seymour," he said solemnly, "do you make my wife and me guardians of your two children, Cherry and Dickie?" "Yes," said the man distinctly; "and God grant as you may keep the charge better'n I've done." "God will help us," said Jem, taking the hand which lay outside the counterpane; "and, my friend, God will help _you_. If you turn to him now He will receive you." The man drew away his hand with impatient pain. "That's past for me," he said between his teeth. "No, it isn't, father," exclaimed Cherry. "If Jesus 'as been so good to you as to take Dickie away from old Sairy, don't ye think as He can be kind enough as to take you from Satan?" "I'm too bad, Cherry; it ain't no use talkin'. You've tried, my girl, a score o' times. And so did yer mother; it ain't a bit o' good. Leave me to die now. If Dickie's all right, I can't 'elp the rest." Cherry's eyes looked despairingly at Jem, but he encouraged her to try again, himself only praying silently that some word, winged by the power of the Mighty Spirit, might enter that hard heart. "Ain't you goin' to _thank_ Jesus, then?" asked poor little Cherry. "He's been awful kind to Dickie, father." The man was silent; but Cherry thought he heard her nevertheless. "You did love Dickie, father?" "And I _do_," flashed the man angrily; "howsoever cruel I've been, I do love the little 'un." "And Dickie loves Jesus," pursued Cherry, soothingly; "and if you was to ask Dickie which he'd rather you'd love, he'd say as he'd like you to love _Jesus_. I know he would." "It ain't no good now," said her father hopelessly. "Why ain't it, dear father?" "'Cause I've sinned till--it ain't no good now." "But Jesus is sorry, and He'll forgive if you'll ask Him. Father--I _know_ He will. He says somethin' about 'Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.'" "Ah! that's them as can be washed." And then Jem said earnestly--