the boy. "I feared as I'd get off to
sleep, but I didn't. I never did hear Big Ben in such voice--he gave out
his text as clear as could be."

"Lor', Giles!" exclaimed Sue, "I didn't mean that stupid clock; I means
Father John. I squeezed up as close as possible to him, and I never
missed a word as fell from his lips. Peter Harris were there too. I
wonder how he felt. Bad, I 'spect, when he remembers the way he treated
poor Connie. And oh, Giles! what do yer think? The preacher spoke to him
jest 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