“I tell you what,” said Jack, stopping a moment in his work, “you’d better mind your own business and be off; I don’t know what you have to do with us.” “What I have to do with you!” exclaimed Mark. “Am I not your brother, the son of your mother? Am I not ready and willing to help you, and to rise early if I am ever so much tired?” There was such a bright, kindly look on the pale, weary face, that even Jack could not possibly be offended. “Now, just listen for a moment,” continued Mark; “suppose that as I was coming along I had spied under the bushes there a lion asleep that I knew would soon wake, and prowl in search of his prey, should I do right in going home and taking care of myself, barring our door so that no lion could come in, and never telling you of the danger at all?” Madge glanced half-frightened towards the bushes, but Jack replied, “I should say that you were a cowardly fellow if you did.” “What! leave us to be torn in pieces, and never give us warning of the lion?” cried Ben. “I should be a cowardly fellow indeed, and a most unfeeling brother. And shall I not tell you of your danger, when the Evil One, who is as a roaring lion, is laying wait for your precious souls. As long as you are in sin you are in danger. Oh, that you would turn to God and be safe!” “God will not punish poor children like us,” said Madge, “just for working a little when we are so poor.” “The Evil One whispers the very same thing to us as he did to Eve, ‘_Thou shalt not surely die_;’ but she found, as we shall find, that though God is merciful, He is also just, and keeps His word.” “There will be time enough to trouble ourselves about these things,” said Ben. “Take care of yourself, and leave us in peace!” exclaimed Jack; “we are not going to be taught by you!” and turning his back upon Mark, he began to work more vigorously than ever. Mark walked up to the cottage with a slow, weary step, silently praying for those who would not listen to him. “God can touch their hearts though I cannot,” thought he. “He who had mercy on me may have mercy on them.” Never had the cottage looked more untidy or uncomfortable, or Ann’s face worn an expression more gloomy and ill-tempered. “Mother,” cried Mark cheerfully, “have you something to give me, my long walk has made me so hungry?” “We’ve had dinner long ago.” “But have you nothing left for me?” “You should have been here in proper time. It’s all gone.” Exhausted in body, and wounded by unkindness, Mark needed indeed the cordial of religion to prevent his spirit from sinking. But he thought of his Lord, and his sufferings upon earth. “My Saviour knew what it was to be weary and a-hungered—He knew what it was to be despised and rejected. If He drained the cup of sorrow, shall I refuse to taste it! If this trial were not good for me, it would not be sent.” So Mark sat down patiently in a corner of the room, and thought over the sermon to cheer him.