"That was kind of him to say, 'Let the children come to me,'" said Elfie when Susie paused. "Yes; the Lord Jesus is always kind," said Susie. "I wish he was here in London; I'd go to him," said Elfie. "It's nice to have anybody speak kind to you." "You can go to him, Elfie," said Susie. "The Lord Jesus has gone up to heaven again now; but he'll hear you just as plain as though he was in the room here." Elfie stared. "You don't think I'm going to believe that, do you?" she said sharply. "Why not? It's the truth," said Susie. "Maybe it is for fine folks that wants a lot of things to live, but not for a poor little street girl like me," answered Elfie. "Why don't you think it's for you, Elfie?" asked her companion. "Because I know what I am, and I guess he'd soon find out I was street rubbish, as the fine folks call me in the market." And Elfie clenched her fist angrily as she spoke. "O Elfie, Jesus don't think you're street rubbish!" said Susie. "I think he cares for people all the more when he knows they're poor, because he was a poor man himself once." "A poor man!" exclaimed Elfie. "Why, you said he was God's Son, and all the world was his." "So it is; but when he came down here, the people wouldn't believe he was God's Son, and so he lived like a poor man—as poor as you and I, I think, Elfie." But Elfie shook her head. "I'm street rubbish, but you ain't," she said. "I found a verse about it," said Susie, "where Jesus says how poor he was—'The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.' There; that means Jesus had no home or comfortable bed, he was so poor," said Susie. Elfie sat looking at her in dumb surprise. "He was just as poor as me," she said. "Why didn't he go away, and leave the people, if he was God's Son?" "Because he loved them, and he wanted them to know it; and to know that God loved them too, and wanted them to love him and be happy." Elfie had never had any one to love her in all her life, and she could but dimly understand what Susie meant; but she did understand it a little, and all the vain longings she had felt when looking at a mother kissing her child sprung up in her heart now, as she said, in a subdued, gentle voice, "I wish he'd love me just a little." "He does love you," said Susie, "not a little, but a great deal." "Did he tell you to tell me so?" asked Elfie eagerly. Susie knew not what to reply to this; but the thought stole into her heart—Was this the work her mother had spoken of—was she to tell Elfie of the love of God, try to make her understand it, and lead her to love him? But her silence made Elfie think she had no message for her, and she said, "You need not be afraid to tell me, Susie; nobody ever did love me, and nobody ever will; and I don't want any love either." But in spite of these words, so sharply and angrily spoken, Elfie burst into tears.