Sue, A Little Heroine | Page 3

as clear as clear could be, and he called him by his
name--Peter. 'Tell His disciples and Peter,' Father John cried, and I
could feel Peter Harris jump ahind me."
"Wor that his text, Sue?"

"Yes, all about Peter. It wor wonnerful."
"Well, my text were, 'No more pain,'" said the boy. "I ache bad nearly
always, but Big Ben said, 'No more pain,' as plain as he could speak,
poor old fellow! It was nine times he said it. It were werry comforting."
Sue made no reply. She was accustomed to that sort of remark from
Giles. She busied herself putting the kettle on the fire to boil, and then
cleaned a little frying-pan which by-and-by was to toast a herring for
Giles's supper and her own.
"Look what I brought yer," she said to the boy. "It were turning a bit,
Tom Watkins said, and he gave it me for a ha'penny, but I guess frying
and a good dash of salt 'ull make it taste fine. When the kettle boils I'll
pour out your tea; you must want it werry bad."
"Maybe I do and maybe I don't," answered Giles. "It's 'No more pain'
I'm thinking of. Sue, did you never consider that maybe ef we're good
and patient Lord Christ 'ull take us to 'eaven any day?"
"No," answered Sue; "I'm too busy." She stood for a minute reflecting.
"And I don't want to go to 'eaven yet," she continued; "I want to stay to
look after you."
Giles smiled. "It's beautiful in 'eaven," he said. "I'd like to go, but I
wouldn't like to leave you, Sue."
"Take your tea now, there's a good fellow," answered Sue, who was
nothing if not matter-of-fact. "Aye, dear!" she continued as she poured
it out and then waited for Giles to raise the cup to his lips, "Peter Harris
do look bad. I guess he's sorry he was so rough on Connie. But now
let's finish our supper, and I'll prepare yer for bed, Giles, for I'm
desp'rate tired."
CHAPTER II.
A SERVANT OF GOD.

John Atkins, the street preacher, was a little man who led a wonderful
life. He was far better educated than most people of his station, and in
addition his mind was tender in feeling and very sensitive and loving.
He regarded everybody as his brothers and sisters, and in especial he
took to his heart all sorrowful people. He never grumbled or repined,
but he looked upon his life as a pilgrimage to a better country, and did
not, therefore, greatly trouble if things were not quite smooth for him.
This little man had a very wide circle of friends. The fact is, he had
more power of keeping peace and order in the very poor part of London,
back of Westminster, where he lived, than had any dignitary of the
Church, any rector, any curate, or any minister, be he of what
persuasion he might. Father John was very humble about himself.
Indeed, one secret of his success lay in the fact that he never thought of
himself at all.
Having preached on this Saturday evening, as was his wont, to a larger
crowd than usual, he went home. As he walked a passer-by could have
seen that he was lame; he used a crutch. With the winter rain beating on
him he looked insignificant. Presently he found the house where he had
a room, went up the stairs, and entered, opening the door with a
latch-key. A fire was burning here, and a small paraffin lamp with a red
shade over it cast a warm glow over the little place. The moment the
light fell upon Father John his insignificance vanished. That was a
grand head and face which rose above the crippled body. The head was
high and splendidly proportioned. It was crowned with a wealth of soft
brown hair, which fell low on the shoulders. The forehead was lofty,
straight, and full; the mouth rather compressed, with firm lines round it;
the eyes were very deep set--they were rather light gray in color, but
the pupils were unusually large. The pupils and the peculiar expression
of the eyes gave them a wonderful power. They could speak when
every other feature in the face was quiet.
"I don't like them--I dread them," said Peter Harris on one occasion.
"Aye, but don't I love 'em just!" remarked little Giles.
Giles and Sue were special friends of John Atkins. They had, in fact,
been left in his care by their mother three years before this story begins.

This was the way they had first learned to know Father John.
The man had a sort of instinct for finding out when people were in
trouble and when they specially needed him. There was a poor woman