e must be yours, too, and we will both try to love and obey
Him."

"Where is He?" asked Wikkey.

"You can't see him now, because He lives up in Heaven. He is the Son of
God, and He might always have stayed in Heaven, quite happy, only,
instead of that, he came down upon earth, and became a man like one of
us, so that He might know what it is. And though He was really a King,
He chose to live like a poor man, and was often cold and hungry as you
used to be; and He went about helping people, and curing those who were
ill, because, you know, Wikkey, He was God, and could do anything. There
are beautiful stories about Him that I can tell you."

"How do you know all about the King, Lawrence?"

"It is written in a book called the Bible. Have you ever seen a Bible?"

"That was the big book as blind Tim used to sit and feel over with his
fingers by the area rails. I asked him what it was, and he said as it
was the Bible. But bless you; he weren't blind no more nor you are: he
lodged at Skimmidge's for a bit, and I saw him a reading of the paper in
his room; he kicked me when he saw as I'd twigged him;" and Wikkey's
laugh broke out at the recollection. Poor child, his whole knowledge of
sacred things seemed to be derived from--

"Holiest things profaned and cursed."

"Tim was a bad man to pretend to be blind when he wasn't," said
Lawrence, severely. "But now, Wikkey, shall I read you a story about the
King?"

"Did He live in London?" Wikkey asked, as Lawrence took up the old Book
with the feeling that the boy should hear these things for the first
time out of his mother's Bible.

"No, He lived in a country a long way off; but that makes no difference,
because He is God, and can see us everywhere, and He wants us to be
good."

Then Lawrence opened the Bible, and after some thought, half read, half
told, about the feeding of the hungry multitude.

Each succeeding evening, a fresh story about the King was related,
eagerly listened to, and commented on by Wikkey with such familiar
realism as often startled Lawrence, and made him wonder whether he were
allowing irreverence; but which at the same time, threw a wondrously
vivid light on the histories which, known since childhood, had lost so
much of their interest for himself: and certainly, as far awakening
first the boy's curiosity, and then his love, went, the method of
instruction answered perfectly. For Wikkey did not die at the end of the
week, or of many succee