"
"Fold?" said Ellen, opening her eyes; "what is that?"
"It's where sheep are penned, ain't it?" said Mr. Van Brunt,
after a pause.
"Oh, yes!" said Ellen; "that's it; I remember; that's like
what he said — 'I am the good shepherd,' and 'the Lord is my
shepherd;' I know now. Go on, please."
He finished the hymn without more interruption. Looking again
towards Ellen, he was surprised to see several large tears
finding their way down her cheeks from under the wet eyelash.
But she quickly wiped them away.
"What do you read them things for," said he, "if they make you
feel bad?"
"Feel bad!" said Ellen. "Oh, they don't; they make me happy; I
love them dearly. I never read that one before. You can't
think how much I am obliged to you for reading it to me. Will
you let me see where it is?"
He gave it her.
"Yes, there's his mark!" said Ellen, with sparkling eyes.
"Now, Mr. Van Brunt, would you be so very good as to read it
once more?"
He obeyed. It was easier this time. She listened, as before,
with closed eyes, but the colour came and went, once or twice.
"Thank you, very much," she said, when he had done. "Are you
going?"
"I must; I have some things to look after."
She held his hand still.
"Mr. Van Brunt, don't _you_ love hymns?"
"I don't know much about 'em, Miss Ellen."
"Mr. Van Brunt, are you one of that fold?"
"What fold?"
"The fold of Christ's people.
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