she went on, with an earnestness of feeling which
brought tears to her eyes,--"a boy whom Christ loves, and for whom he
died--a boy that Christ cares for, and is ever watching over, and in
whose troubles and pleasures, joys and sorrows, Christ is tenderly
concerned--O Georgie, if he be Christ's friend, must not we like to be
kind to and help him, to do him as much good and as little harm as we
can?"

"Yes, yes, I see," he answered softly, and with much feeling. Annie
went on.

"And if he be a boy who does not love God," she said solemnly, "then
must he be one of the wicked with whom God says that he is angry every
day. And oh, Georgie, think what it must be to have God angry with you
every day! to go through the world without God, never to think of him
with love! to have no God to serve, no God to care for you; never to
have your troubles made easy by knowing that the loving God has sent
them, never to have your joys made sweet because they are his loving
gift! O Georgie, how dreary, how desolate! Can you help being pitiful
to any one who is in such a state?"

"No, oh no," was said by Georgie's eyes even more earnestly than by
his tongue. He said no more; for boys cannot speak of what they feel
so readily as girls. But Annie's thought had gone deep into his heart,
and as he went a few minutes after down towards the village on an
errand for his father, his whole thoughts were occupied by it. Much
more soberly than usual did he walk down the avenue, thinking over
again all that Annie had said, and praying earnestly that God would
keep it in his memory, and bring it strongly before him each time he
had occasion to use it.

Such occasion was close at hand. As he came out of the gate into the
road, he saw, a little way before him, a boy who, as he feared--nay,
rather as he knew--was one of those wicked of whom Annie had been
speaking. His name was Alick. Poor fellow, he was a cripple; he had
been a cripple from his very babyhood. He had never been able to put
his feet to the ground, to walk or run about like other boys, but
could only get along slowly and painfully by the help of crutches. He
was besides very delicate, and often suffered violent attacks of pain
in his back and limbs, so that every one must have felt sorry for him,
had he not been such a bad, cruel, selfish boy, that anger often drove
pity away from the softest hearts. But there was this excuse for him,
he had never had any one to teach him better. His