"So you think, Joe, that you are better than God."
"Better 'n God?"
"Yes; more merciful, and loving, and kind."
"Who said so?" said Joe, staring at her as if he could scarcely believe his own ears.
"Well, you implied it," said the nurse, quietly.
"Me implied it?" said he in a tone of bewilderment. "How so?"
"Well, you say you had a bad son who has been away many years, and yet you say you love him still, so much so that you would willingly die for him; and that, bad as he has been, if he were to come home to-night, instead of driving him from the door, you would give him the heartiest welcome, and think nothing in the house too good for him. And yet you think God will turn away you. So you must admit, Joe," she said with a smile, "that you think you have more love and mercy in your heart than God has in His?"
Joe was silent. And Nelly whispered to the nurse, "Thank you so much."
After awhile Joe got up, and leaning over the crib, he kissed the pale brow of the little sufferer. "Good-bye, my purty," he whispered. "We*ll meet again, I do believe."
"Ay, Joe, I*m sure we shall."
"I'm main sorry to lose 'e," he said in a faltering voice, and brushing his rough hand across his eyes; "but I ken give yer to God."
"I'll be waiting, Joe, *gin you come. Now kiss me, for I'll be gone, I reckon, afore you come again."
