"I've seen pictures like that in shops, but I never knew as it was the
King. He looks very sorrowful--a deal sorrowfuller nor you--and what is
that He has on His Head?"

"That has to do with a very sad story, which I have not told you yet.
You know, Wikkey, though he was so good and kind, the men of that
country hated Him, and would not have him for their King, and at last
they took Him prisoner, and treated Him very badly, and they put that
crown of sharp, pricking thorns on His Head, because He said He was a
King."

"Was it to make game of Him?" asked Wikkey, in a tone of mingled awe and
distress.

Lawrence nodded gravely, and feeling that this was perhaps as good a
moment as any for completing the history, he took the Book, and in low,
reverent tones, began the sad story of the betrayal, captivity, and
Death. Wikkey listened in absorbed attention, every now and then
commenting on the narrative in a way which showed its intense reality to
himself, and gave a marvellous vividness to the details of which
Lawrence had before scarcely realized the terrible force. As he read on,
his voice became husky, and the child's eyes were fixed on him with
devouring eagerness, till the awful end came, and Wikkey broke into an
agony of weeping. Lawrence hastily put down the Book, and taking the
little worn frame into his arms tried to soothe the shaking sobs,
feeling the while as though he had been guilty of cruelty to the tender,
sensitive heart.

"I thought some one would have saved Him," Wikkey gasped. "I didn't know
as He was killed; you never told me He was killed."

"Wikkey, little lad--hush--look here! it was all right at the end.
Listen while I read the end; it is beautiful." And as the sobs subsided
he began to read again, still holding the boy close, and inwardly
wondering whether something like this might have been the despair of the
disciples on that Friday evening--read of the sadness of that waiting
time, of the angel's visit to the silent tomb, of the loving women at
the sepulchre, and the joyful message, "He is not here, He is risen;"
and lastly, of the parting blessing, the separating cloud and the
tidings of the coming again. A look of great relief was on Wikkey's
face as Lawrence ceased reading, and he lay for some time with closed
eyes, resting after his outburst. At last he opened them with sudden
wonder.

"Lawrence, why did He let them do it? If He could do anything, why
didn't He save Himself from the